


3.10 Breaking the Zodiac

by William_Easley



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: F/M, Friendship, Romance, Supernatural - Freeform, Suspense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-23
Updated: 2018-03-15
Packaged: 2019-03-23 00:20:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 16
Words: 38,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13775697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/William_Easley/pseuds/William_Easley
Summary: In July of 2015, a grim threat arises in Gravity Falls--directed against Dipper, Mabel, Pacifica, Wendy, and all the others on the Cipher Zodiac. The enemy is shadowy, clever, and ruthless. Can Stanford and Stanley hold everything together to fight this rising evil? This continues my arc of stories following up on the Mystery Twins' second, third, and fourth summers in Gravity Falls. Complete at 16 chapters.





	1. Fireworks and Doubts

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own the show "Gravity Falls" or any of the characters, settings, or situations. I gain no money from writing these fanfictions.

**3.10 Breaking the Zodiac**

**By William Easley**

**July 2015**

* * *

**1: Fireworks and Doubts**

**From the Journals of Dipper Pines:** _Saturday, July 4: In a couple of minutes I'd have to write Sunday, July 5! It's been a long day. Stressful, too, after our pep-talk and meeting with Ford at Ballet Flats. For that day and the next I felt high on the energy I'd sensed, confident that we could do anything._

_But waiting—it's always the worst. The more we have to wait, the less confident I feel. Of course, I can't hide that from Wendy. She keeps trying to cheer me up and give me support._

_And that's what bothers me._

_Anyway, we had the usual Independence Day barbecue and games at the Shack. Since last year Wendy and I kind of came under Manly Dan's eye after we won an event, we didn't partner up this year. Mabel and Teek came in second in the three-legged race, though, and Wendy won the greased-pole climbing contest, racking up a record time._

_Later, out at the lake, we all went out on Soos's boat—and when the fireworks started, Wendy and I shared our traditional kiss, after making sure that Manly Dan and the boys were off in their rowboat, far enough away so we could slip over to the opposite side of the boat, out of their sight._

_Nobody on Soos's boat minded, least of all Mabel, who was lip-locked with Teek._

_Later, as people were driving home, Wendy asked, "Want to talk about it, man?"_

" _Not yet," I told her. "Mainly, I'm just worried."_

_And that was true, as far as it went. Tomorrow or Monday I've got talk to Ford. If someone really is trying to take us all down, we need a plan._

_In a situation like this, we always need a plan._

* * *

Since Monday was an off day at the Shack—not that many tourists came by, and they usually were closed for the day, though the museum and Mystery Tours would open if enough people showed up—Dipper biked over to the McGucket mansion after his and Wendy's daily run.

To his surprise, a police cruiser had parked in the circular drive. Dipper went up and knocked on the door, and the animated Queen Anne chair admitted him. "Where's Grunkle Ford?" Dipper asked it.

"Dr. Pines is in conference in the library now," Chair Man Miaow told him. "Would you care to have refreshments while waiting?"

"No, thanks," Dipper said, heading for the library.

He heard the mutter of voices in the hallway and paused outside the library door, which had been left ajar. He heard Blubs's voice: "Now, now, Professor, I'm not accusing you of anything, I'm just saying—"

"First of all," Ford's calm voice responded, "I'm not a professor. I don't hold an academic appointment of any kind. I do have a good many doctoral degrees, though, so if you wanted to call me 'Doctor,' that would be proper. However, can't we just be 'Stanford' and 'Sheriff'? We've known each other long enough!"

"Yeah," came Durland's high-pitched, countryfied voice, "but we want to keep this here convocation on what you'd call a professional level."

"Consultation," Blubs corrected.

"Yeah, on a consultation level."

Ford again: "I know what you meant, Deputy. Sheriff, honestly, the Pines family isn't to blame for any of this."

"All we know," Blubs said, "is before you showed up, things in Gravity Falls had settled down to being real peaceful. We weren't getting reports of ghosts and monsters half as much as they're coming in these days. People are starting to talk."

"There are reasons for that," Stanford said, "that have nothing to do with us. I've told you about the Society of the Blind Eye. They suppressed the truth about the weirdness of Gravity Falls. That weirdness occurred daily, but no one reported it because no one remembered it."

"But," Durland said, "if it was out of sight, we were out of our minds, see?"

"In your case, yes," Stanford agreed. "It's better and healthier, though, to confront the oddities of life than to ignore them. Take the Gnomes—"

"Never used to get reports of them ransacking people's private garbage!" Blubs said.

"No, and you don't now, either," Stanford said. "The civilized ones have become productive citizens, disposing of garbage in a sanitary way, providing efficient and cheap pest control—"

"They's taking our jobs!" Durland shot back.

"Deputy," Stanford said, sounding tired, "they're taking jobs nobody else wants, eating rats and garbage! And they're law-abiding now that they understand us! They haven't stolen so much as a pie in over two years! And back when they did steal, it was always food and it was always because they were starving."

"Appetite is no excuse for breaking the law," Durland said.

"Now, now, now," Blubs cut in. "Professor, we just came to give you some friendly advice. Let's cool it with these mysteries and spooks and goblins and things. Tell your brother to have Mr. Ramirez make it clear that the Mystery Shack is just pretend and showmanship."

"That reminds me," Durland said to Blubs, "you and me is gonna take a cruise on a showmanship! Toot-toot!"

Blubs chuckled. "You sure love your shuffleboard!"

"Gentlemen," Ford said, "I'll bear what you say in mind. But in turn, please remember that the creatures and the strangeness of Gravity Falls have existed here since before even the Native Americans discovered the valley. I have good reason to think it's been this way for millions of years."

"Well, then it's time for a change," Durland said. "Can I see the cruise tickets again?"

"They're in the car," Blubs said indulgently. "But we don't leave for another two weeks."

"I can't wait!"

"You remember our talk," Blubs said to Ford. Dipper waited as the sheriff and deputy left. If they noticed him, they didn't speak to him—unusual.

Then Dipper looked in. Ford was at a library table, elbows on desk, head in hands. "Grunkle Ford?"

His great-uncle looked up, wearily. "Mason. Come in, have a seat. It's good to see you after my visitors."

"I kinda heard," Dipper said. "What was all that about?" He slipped into the chair opposite Ford.

"I suspect," Ford said darkly, "it's a probe from the enemy. Someone's been stirring up gossip and doubt about the Pines family—suggesting that it's our fault the town's such a hotbed of paranormal happenings."

"That's crazy," Dipper said.

"Oh, I agree, it's paranoid. It's an effort to cut us off from any community support, I think. However, it's a classic case of scapegoating. If you can find one person or group to blame for all your problems, it's like a magic charm—boot that person or that group out, and all your troubles are over. Except, of course, they aren't." Ford straightened up and sighed.

"Three years ago," Dipper complained, "we were the heroes of the town! They wiped out Grunkle Stan's criminal record! The whole town threw Mabel and me a huge birthday party. Everybody cried when we climbed on the bus and left."

"The mob mentality," Ford said in a heavy voice, "boils down to 'what have you done for me lately?' People are too quick to forget, especially if someone's fomenting doubt and discord. But this is neither here nor there. You said on the phone that you had a serious question."

"Yeah," Dipper admitted. "Only now—I'm not so sure I should add to your trouble."

"It's no trouble," Ford said with a smile, "if it's family. What's your problem, Mason?"

"Teek joined the Zodiac," Dipper said slowly.

"Yes, because Robbie's attitude and outlook have changed. It wasn't an accident that Robbie gave that emblematic jacket to Mr. O'Grady. Some things fall out by destiny." Ford got up and closed the door, then returned to his seat. "Are you concerned about your sister and Teek?" he asked quietly.

"No!" Dipper replied, surprised. "Nothing like that! But I—I've been lying awake and wondering—do you—this is hard." He took a deep breath. "Do you think I should step off the Zodiac? Find someone else to wear the pine tree?"

Ford's face mapped his astonishment. "What? Absolutely not! What brought such an idea into your mind?"

Dipper huddled in his chair. "I—I've been thinking back. Re-reading my Journals. So many times, I've been the weakest link. I—I find these mysteries, and I try to solve them, but I do the wrong thing, or I make bad mistakes and somebody else has to come and bail me out. You couldn't do without Wendy, but if I screwed up and Wendy got hurt, or worse—it would kill me. If someone else can do the job better—"

"Mason. Mason. Calm down, now. Why don't you and I go for a walk?"

To be accurate, first they went for a drive, up a winding road and out into the countryside. On the west side of the valley, a tall, rounded hill overlooked the town. Dipper and Ford knew that buried beneath the hill lay an extraterrestrial craft—perhaps the source of the weird vibe of Gravity Falls, or perhaps an ill-fated alien expedition that had come to explore that strangeness.

"Are we going into the ship?" Dipper asked nervously.

"Not today." Ford sat on the boulder that concealed the hatch leading down into the crashed saucer. "Come and sit beside me. Look at the valley."

The day was mostly clear, with a few scudding white clouds in the blue sky. Atop the hill, Dipper felt the cool breeze, and he could see it rippling the grass. In front of them and below them lay the town of Gravity Falls. Past it were the undercut cliffs—the gap between them shaped like a flying saucer—and he could see both the highway and the river leaving the valley and flowing out into the wider world. It all looked peaceful, the distant houses, the sea of trees, the shadows of the clouds floating and flowing over everything.

After a few minutes of silence, Ford spoke: "When Bill Cipher attempted to conquer our planet, he found that he and his minions couldn't go beyond the confines of the valley. A weirdness bubble contained them. Have you ever considered that?"

"Well, sure," Dipper said. "It saved everybody else in the world from Weirdmageddon."

"True," Ford said. "And it also sealed inside with Bill the only people on Earth who could defeat him and his alien army. The members of the Zodiac. The people of the town who refused to surrender and who stood against an all-powerful demon. The paranormal beings and creatures of the valley. And most of all, the Pines family. You, Mabel, me, and most especially my brother."

"But Mabel and I failed," Dipper said. "Even together, we couldn't beat him that time. He nearly killed Mabel!"

" _Did_  you fail?" Ford asked. "Think, Mason. When Bill's bizarre maniacs had taken the rest of the survivors prisoner outside the Fearamid, when he had transformed the rest of the Zodiac into those infernal banners, when the only ones left to confront him were the Pines family—you and Mabel took him on together. That was an extraordinary act of courage. Remember how you two led him away from us and let Stanley come up with the plan that finally saved our reality? Saved our lives? Saved our world?"

Dipper squirmed. "Yeah, but—he caught us."

"But you risked that and bought us time!" Stanford insisted. "Don't you see? It took all of us—the town, the paranormal beings, the Zodiac crew, and the Pines family. Each one of us had a place to fill. Including you."

"But if I screw up—"

"Mason, I have faith in you. Don't dwell on the mistakes you've made. Learn from them. Every scientist makes mistakes. Without error, there's no progress! And I can't count even on the fingers of both hands how many successes you've had!" Ford winked. "That means more than twelve, you know."

Dipper had to laugh. Not a hearty laugh, but still.

"Nobody could replace you, Dipper," Ford said, using his nephew's nickname. "Pine Tree and Shooting Star and Sixer and—whatever that weird fish-looking thing of Stan's is, I've never known for sure. We four are the anchors of the Zodiac. I don't think any of us could give up our place. Somehow, that's destiny, too. It's ours. We can't walk away."

"If only I could make sure that Wendy was safe," Dipper said.

"You'll look out for her. So will the rest of us. And we've all got your backside."

Dipper had to grin. "Uh, got my back."  _When you battle a hundred Gnomes side-by-side with someone, you realize they've probably always got your back._ God, that seemed like so long ago! The grin faded, and Dipper added, "I still can't help worrying."

Stan nodded. "No, of course not. That's natural and nothing to be ashamed of. I worry, too. What if I die fighting this thing? After so many years of struggle and loneliness, at long last I've found the love of my life. What would happen to Lorena? But we can't allow worry to consume us, Mason. Like Stan, we do the job that lies in front of us. It's hard, it isn't fair, but there it is. We didn't ask for this thing, for this evil, but it's come to the Falls, and we have to face it."

Dipper nodded. "I'll try."

He felt his uncle's warm hand on his shoulder. "That's all anyone can ask."

Dipper took a deep breath. "Well—when I haven't been beating myself up because I'm the weakest link, I've been wondering—there are a lot of newcomers in the Valley this year."

"I know. Ulva, the werewolf girl—not new in the Valley, but new as a full-time human. Traci, the young lady who's come to work in the Shack. The young man, I forget his name, that Pacifica is dating. I've identified a dozen others."

" _Stranger danger_ ," Dipper said. "Like Bill told us. Do you suppose one of them, or maybe more than one, might be spreading lies about us?"

"I've wondered," Ford replied. "In fact, tracing the rumors and innuendoes might lead us to our enemy."

Dipper stood up. "I don't like it. I still don't trust myself. But there it is. All right, Grunkle Ford—let's get started."


	2. Relations and Relationships

**Breaking the Zodiac**

**By William Easley**

**(July 2015)**

* * *

**2: Relations and Relationships**

Traci settled into the Shack routine fast. By early July, she was cheerfully upselling tourists—in a nice way—and had learned lessons from Dipper about not actually lying, but not quite telling the whole truth: "Will that dreamcatcher really keep bad dreams away? If you really believe it will, I think it will work! Is the four-leaf clover in that keychain lucky? Why, it's not a four-leaf clover, but a genuine Irish shamrock! Yes, sir, that _looks_ like a narwhal tusk, but Mr. Mystery has authorized me to say it's a very rare unicorn horn, and I'm sorry, but ten thousand dollars is the absolute lowest price."

None of that was, strictly speaking, false. The dreamcatcher worked on the placebo principle. If you believed you wouldn't have nightmares, you had fewer.

Soos had told Traci that the narwhal tusk (a gift from Mermando, rescued from the sea floor—no narwhals were harmed in getting it) was a unicorn horn, "'Cause, girl dude, a narwhal is also called the sea unicorn, see?"

And yes, the plant preserved in the Lucite was indeed a genuine Irish shamrock, though it had never set root on the auld sod of the Emerald Isle, but had been produced, sure and begorrah, by the Li Chen Plant Nursery and Garden Supply house in Paterson, New Jersey. But its remote ancestors had come from Ireland, perhaps at the time of the potato famine.

Dipper got along well with the new girl. Traci Niederlander was fifteen years and three months old, she had dark blonde hair (no competition with Pacifica's golden tresses), freckles on her cheeks and nose, and a good sense of humor. And she worked hard, dinging away at the new register down the counter from Dipper's. That morning she was wearing jeans and a soft white short-sleeved sweater-top with horizontal red, yellow, and blue lines.

"How are you and your family settling in?" Dipper asked her during a relative lull in sales.

"Oh, OK, I guess," she said. "This isn't the first time we've moved to a new place for a start-over." She started to count on her fingers. "Before this, we lived in Pocatello, Idaho. That's 'cause my mom was finishing her grad degree so she could work as a nutritionist. And before that, we lived in New Orleans for a year while Dad put together his photography book— _Scenes from Old New Orleans._ They sell it down there in all the tourist spots like this! Before that, we lived in Florida, where I was born. So, we've been nomads."

"Gravity Falls treating you all right?" Dipper asked.

"Yeah, I guess. Those Gnomes scared me the first time I saw them, but they're pretty nice. They came by and offered to sweep through our new house for pests and caught about twenty mice we didn't even know we had, so Dad's hired them as pest control. The big bat that flies over after sundown is creepy."

"It's not a bat," Dipper said. "It's a Pteranodon."

"Right," she said, grinning a you-can't-fool-me kind of grin.

"If you've got a dog, just don't let it outside between sunset and nine P.M."

"Don't have one, but thanks."

For a few minutes they were alone in the gift shop. Soos was out on the Mystery Trail with a tram-load of tourists, Mabel and Teek were in the snack bar getting ready for the lunch rush, and Wendy was showing people through the museum. Traci said, "Hey, Dipper? You and Wendy?"

"We're very close," Dipper told her with a smile. "Girlfriend and boyfriend, but keep that in the family. Her dad doesn't know yet. Mine does, and he's happy about it."

"I can tell you two love each other," she said, smiling. "And Teek and Mabel?"

Dipper shrugged. "They're close, too. They're more openly girlfriend and boyfriend."

"Yeah, but they squabble a lot, don't they?"

"Listen," Dipper said, lowering his voice, "anybody who's around Mabel for very long will squabble now and then. She's sweet and I love her to death, but she can drive you crazy sometimes. You may have noticed she's real random."

Traci nodded. "Yeah, I just wish—do you have any guy friends around that I might be able to hang out with? I mean, you know, go-to-a-movie sort of friends? We don't know many people in town, and when I'm not working I get kind of lonely."

"Well," Dipper said slowly, "I don't make friends all that easily, so I can't really help you. Mabel can—but let me warn you about that . . .."

* * *

"Who's that Jude guy?" Teek asked Mabel.

"Jude Michaud," Mabel said. "He's from Canada."

"You told me that about a hundred times," Teek said as he stacked hamburger patties in the cooler. Soon it would be time to fire up the grill and the broiler. He turned on the deep fryer. The day before he and Mabel had peeled and cut more potatoes than they cared to think about, and the cut fries now soaked in cold water with a little sugar—that made the fries get a nice golden-brown as they cooked. "Hot dogs ready?"

"Franks ready to go, sir!" Mabel said with a salute. "Seriously, Jude's been seeing Pacifica. She's not sure about her old boyfriend, Adam. They kinda had a falling out."

"Huh." Teek looked a little odd with a hairnet over his new haircut—he'd gone for a shorter look last time, which Mabel liked—and he fastidiously removed and tossed away his plastic gloves before pulling on a new pair. You never cooked in the same gloves you'd used to handle raw meat. Ironclad rule. "Last summer when I first met Pacifica, I didn't much like her," he confessed. "She seemed, you know, stuck-up."

"Bwah!" Mabel laughed. "The first summer I met her, she was more stuck-up than a glue factory!"

"Um," Teek said. "As a simile—"

Like Wendy at the controls of a tank, Mabel rolled right over him: "That wasn't her fault. The Northwests ruled this town back then! And her parents, 'specially her dad—you know he owns the mud-flap—"

"I know, I know," Teek said. "We've lived here for nearly three years now."

"Well, get this, Preston Northwest had trained Pacifica so when he jingled this stupid little bell, she had to obey him. She was, like, hypnotized!" Mabel made her eyes huge and somehow her irises got swirly. "Hypnotized! Hyp-no-tized!"

"I get it," Teek said. "Hypnotized, right?"

"Yeah! And you wouldn't believe how snooty Preston was!" Mabel put on a snobbish, nasal voice: "We Northwests are the best people on the face of the earth! Everyone else is dirt beneath our feet!"

"You sound like that guy in  _Castle,_ " Teek said. "But more patronizing."

"Yeah, OK," Mabel said. "So, if Pacifica wanted to go to a sleepover—she never did, because she didn't have any real friends, just people who loved her money—but if she asked, 'May I go to a sleepover?' her parents would say, like, 'No, Pacifica! We will not allow you to mingle with low-life riff-raff ne'er-do-well gutter-snipe—'"

"That's a lot of hyphens," Teek said, putting half a dozen burger patties on the grill, where they sizzled. "I get the idea. Hey, do a basket of fries, please."

With her tongue in the corner of her mouth, Mabel carefully drained a load of fries, shook them to remove as much water as possible, and then filled a basket. As she lowered it into the hot oil, they started to cook with an instant aroma. "There you go. Well, OK, you understand. And if Pacifica insisted, 'But I really want to go! Please!' Preston would whip out his little bell—" she mimed a prissy sort of hand gesture, indicating a tinkling—"and say 'The ringing of the bell commands you!' And Pacifica would go into a trance and say, 'Yes, father!'"

"That's messed-up," Teek said. "Like Pavlov and his dogs."

"I know, right?" Mabel said with some indignation. "Speaking of that, how many dogs?"

"Uh—let's start with six," Teek said. "Most people want burgers. Time to open the register."

Mabel kissed his cheek. She put the frankfurters under the broiler, opened the register, and immediately a family of five came in and ordered four burgers, two dogs, and fries all around, and Teek was up and cooking.

* * *

"This is fun," Jude Michaud said as he and Pacifica cantered along the fence of the big pasture on the Northwest farm. He was riding Molly, the smaller and more docile of Pacifica's two ponies, and she was on the spirited and larger Desperado. They both wore helmets. Pacifica, who hadn't fallen off a horse since she was six, sometimes didn't bother with one, but Jude was new at riding, and to make him feel less self-conscious, she had donned a helmet, too.

They slowed their mounts to a walk as they neared the creek that flowed through the property. "Let's let the ponies drink," Pacifica said, dismounting. "Remember, same as mounting, you get off on the left side. Tighten up the reins, swing your right leg over, and just drop to your feet." She demonstrated. "Want me to hold Molly?"

"She's pretty calm," Jude said. "I'll try it on my own." He managed it, though Molly did shift her feet just a little.

The teens took off the ponies' bridles so they could browse and drink. The animals didn't stray far from the creek—it ran over rocks and smoothed out in one small but fairly deep pool, where they dipped their heads and drank the cool water. Pacifica went to the base of a tree and settled down to sit in tall grass. She patted the ground next to her. "They won't wander off. Come on, sit."

Jude did, taking off his helmet. "Your family has a nice place here."

"Yeah," Pacifica said. "I like it lots better than the mansion." She gave the word  _mansion_ an ironic twist. "I mean, there it was all like antiques and expensive rugs and 'Don't touch that, Pacifica!' and 'That sofa's not for sitting on, Pacifica!' This is a farmhouse, and Mom and Dad aren't so touchy."

"I wouldn't know about anything like that," Jude said, running his fingers through his black hair. "Got a little sweaty!"

"A good run will do that," Pacifica said. "Tell me about your family."

"Not much to tell," Jude said. "There's my mother, my father, two brothers, and me. The Michauds are not—" he waggled his palm—"high society types, Pacifica. My dad works for an oil company up in Alberta. He started out as a roughneck—you know what that is?"

"Somebody who gets into bar fights?" Pacifica asked.

Jude laughed. "Well, Dad had his share of those, yes. But it's an oil-rig worker. He never finished high school but went straight onto an oil platform at seventeen. Eventually, he got his GED, then learned enough to become a foreman. Now he manages a dozen crews. He makes good money, but we aren't rich. And he has no social graces, you know?"

"I hate that you have to go back," Pacifica said. She had taken off her helmet, too, and picked a long stem of grass.

"Not until the end of summer, though," Jude said.

"Are you going to be a roughneck, too?" she asked.

He laughed. "No. My parents have the American dream for me, Canadian version. I'm going to college. I don't know what I want to be, though. Maybe a math teacher."

"Ew!" Pacifica put her arm through his. "I think I'd rather have you be a roughneck," she said playfully. She tickled his neck with the stem of grass.

He made a face and turned toward her. They looked at each other from a distance of inches. Her eyes were light blue, his dark blue. "You look beautiful," he whispered.

She leaned forward, and they kissed.

The ponies milled around, champing the grass and wondering why it was taking the riders so long to mount up and ride home.

* * *

"And that's the story," Stanford said. "I wanted everyone to know." He and his wife Lorena, Stanley and Sheila, and Fiddleford and Mayellen sat at the table, where they had just finished a light lunch. The waitermobots began to clear the dishes. "It might be dangerous—in fact, it's going to be very dangerous. But we have no choice. I'm morally convinced that whoever is plotting against us is behind a string of brutal murders."

"And you got no idee of who this bushwhackin' stumpthumper is?" Fiddleford asked, his voice serious though his vocabulary was on the nutty side.

"Sorry, no," Stanford said.

"Gals," Stanley cut in, "you got the story. Do we got your support?"

"Don't be silly!" Sheila said in a stern tone. "Ford, I call dibs on one of your destabilizers. Or at least the pistol-sized disruptor!"

"Show me how to use one, and I'll be at your side," Lorena told her husband.

Mayellen said, "I can't do any of that. But I know Fiddleford will do what's right, and I stand behind him."

"Aw, honey," Fiddleford said, giving her a hug, "you're sweeter than a possum what fell into a beehive!"

"Yes," Ford said. "Well—we appreciate your understanding, ladies, and we wouldn't do anything this foolhardy without good cause—"

"We love you guys, too!" Sheila said, laughing.

"Come on," Lorena added. "You've saved this town from demons and monsters. If this is a human monster, that just means we want you not to take unnecessary risks. Promise us that much!"

"I'll worry about you," Mayellen said. "But you'll do what you have to do."

"We'll try our best not to take on unnecessary danger," Ford promised.

"I'll whomp up some combat robomawhackers to back us up!" said Fiddleford.

Stan tried on a new pair of brass knuckles, flexing his fingers and smiling. "'Sides," he said, "you know what cautious fellows we are."


	3. Tremors

**Breaking the Zodiac**

**By William Easley**

**(July 2015)**

* * *

**3: Tremors**

At the beginning of William Shakespeare's play  _Henry IV, Part 2_ , a character named Rumour—you know who he is because he wears a costume with tongues painted all over it, a fashion statement if there ever was one—comes out on the stage and flat-out tells you he's gonna lie:

* * *

Open your ears, for which of you will stop

The vent of hearing when loud Rumor speaks?

I, from the orient to the drooping west,

Making the wind my post-horse, still unfold

The acts commenced on this ball of earth.

Upon my tongues continual slanders ride,

The which in every language I pronounce,

Stuffing the ears of men with false reports.

* * *

Blah de blah de blah-blah, as Mabel might summarize the speech. Hey, the guy says, I'm Rumor, and who doesn't listen to me? Ha! Nobody doesn't listen to me, that's who don't! Wait a minute. Too many negatives. Ah, untangle that yourself. Where was I?

Oh, yeah, Rumor says, I ride from east to west on the horse of the wind and tell lies about everything in the world! My tongue is the horse on which slanders ride—wait, wait, that means . . . my tongue . . . is a horse . . . riding on another horse—Man, that's unnatural! Somebody oughta take, like, a photo!

Then old Rumor continues: And what's more, I speak every language under the sun! English, Frenchnanglish, Spanglish, Latinglish, Chineseglish, it's all the same to me! Even Pig Latin, igday itway! And with all my tongues and horses, I fill people's ears full to sloppin' over with lies! Booyah!

Yeah, you've known people like that, most likely in school, and some are probably teachers. You might even have been a victim of Old Man Rumor yourself.

Anyway, that's sort of the position the guys and gals of the Zodiac found themselves in during the first days of July, 2015—not telling rumors, I mean, but being the victims of them.

As Mr. Mystery, Soos started to be asked unusual questions: "Is it true that you make these kids work for nothing, you slave-driver?" "Did you once go to prison for grave-robbing?" That kind of thing. Soos defended himself, but you know how it is—the huffy tourist guy growls, "Let's go, Martha. If it wasn't true, he wouldn't deny it."

Manly Dan didn't believer in any of the rumors—he already believed so many things that weren't true that his brain didn't have room for any more falsehoods—but he warned Stanford and Stanley: "People are sayin' that you guys bring bad luck. Like, they say I never busted my leg before I started doin' work for you."

But Stanford reminded Dan that he'd built the Shack, all but single-handedly, more than thirty years back, and Stanley reminded him that he'd helped to repair and expand it over the years. "Be crazy if the bad luck just started now, right?"

Dan agreed, but he was starting to have some trouble holding together a crew to work on the houses he was building for Ford and Stan.

Teek ran across his schoolmate Toni (casual friends, and they'd only ever gone on one date, and that was to a concert, and they didn't really kiss or even hold hands) and she blurted, "My Mom says you and that Mabel girl could both be charged with statutory rape."

Which was not true, unless every high-school kid in America who's ever kissed a girlfriend or boyfriend could suffer the same charge. As for Mabel, Lazy Susan heard in Greasy's one day that Mabel had been sprung from an institution for criminally insane children, having murderously assaulted a toddler she was baby-sitting. Not true. Not that once or twice she hadn't considered it, but not true.

Dipper? He was a compulsive liar who'd never even run on a track in his life, and he constantly made up lies about supernatural stuff.

And, oh, yes: Instead of letting the townspeople into the Northwest home three years back, Pacifica had been the reason that her poor parents had never invited the ordinary people of Gravity Falls—she was so snobbish that she threw a tantrum at the very suggestion.

Fiddleford had stolen the ideas for his patents and the U.S. government was about to arrest him. Wendy had been notorious for getting the town's star football player charged with attempted rape and expelled from high school (she didn't, he wasn't, and he was later actually found guilty of the crime of rape, committed against other girls). Gideon was on steroids and was subject to fits of rage that made him too dangerous to be around.

Well, people love to talk.

And unfortunately, other people love to listen.

* * *

"What can we _do_?" Mabel wailed.

"We'll have to fight lies with truth, that's all," Ford said.

"Yeah, but they say a lie can run all the way around the world while truth is still lookin' for its car keys," Stan countered.

"If I can find who said that about Wendy—" Dipper growled.

"Chill, Dip," Wendy said. "I kinda think that's what whoever  _wants_  us to do—get mad and lose control."

"Hey," Stan said, "Dipper, don't lose it. Look at me—I don't care if they call me a jinx. All those years people were whisperin' that I was a lawbreaker—that didn't bother me, and that was true!"

"It makes me feel so sad, though," Soos admitted. Melody hugged him. "I mean, like, I don't want to be called a bad dude, dudes! Not long ago they were singing songs about me, the Handyman of the Apocalypse."

"Soos," Stanley advised, "when they ask you if you've done bad things, look 'em in the eye and tell 'em, 'I ain't got the brains for that.' They'll believe you."

Soos smiled and, though he had tears in his eyes, he gave a determined nod.

"Guys," Dipper said, "so far, this is just talk among the people. I mean, I spoke to Jeff and to Chutzpar, and the Gnomes and Manotaurs still believe in us. They're all on our side."

"That reinforces my perception," Ford said. "The plotter behind all this is human. And from outside the Valley. Whoever it is can't have connections to the paranormal creatures of Gravity Falls—or not many. And paranormal races seem to have more resistance to blind belief in rumor than people do."

"I think we need another prayer meetin'" Stanley said. "Get the Zodiac together again, like we did under the full moon. Moon have to be full, Poindexter?"

"No," Stanford told him. "We can get somewhat the same effect anytime we assemble, but the full moon enhances it."

Teek came in just then—way early for his shift, but he looked troubled when he found them all in the parlor. Mabel got up and hugged him. "Don't believe what you hear," she said in a weepy voice.

He kissed her cheek. "I don't. How can people be so rotten?" he asked. He told them what he had heard from Toni.

"It's someone trying to foment division among us," Ford said. "All right. I don't see how it can hurt, and it might help. Call everyone and see if we can all get together Saturday or Sunday evening, just for a morale session."

There were only three to call, and they arranged who would call whom. Mabel would get in touch with Pacifica, Ford with Fiddleford, and Soos took Gideon. That was as far as they could go that Thursday morning. As they broke up, Stanford said, "This is going to be a trying time, and lies, gossip, and rumor aren't the worst of it. We must be braced for a paranormal attack. I know one is coming, but I don't know when it will come or what it will be like."

"Let it come," Stan said.

* * *

"Brujo," the spy gasped, thrashing on the bed—no sheets, a bare mattress on the floor, but a bed—"help me."

The Researcher—his helper had begun to call him "Brujo," which means "sorcerer"—couldn't understand exactly what was wrong. His spy had gone out in darkness to trail the members of the Zodiac that night of the full moon, and had returned, but had come back wounded, feverish, and delusional.

Were they all present? Who was the leader? What did they do when they gathered?

The spy would not or could not say but babbled of being attacked. It was true, the spy had been ripped badly on the legs and one hand, but Brujo—let's call him that—couldn't make out what had done it.

"Did one of the group curse you?" he asked.

"The moon," the victim groaned. "The moon."

Maybe the attack had nothing to do with the Zodiac. Brujo already knew that the Valley gave shelter to some dangerous beasts, both natural and unnatural—wolves and even werewolves, coyotes, pumas, who knew what else? But the marks had nothing special about them. They could be claw marks or bite marks, or they might have resulted from a magical blast. If only the fool would settle down!

Aspirin and cold cloths did not help. Disinfecting the wounds with iodine was no use, though the pain brought on screams. Perhaps it wasn't a curse. Though rabies in Oregon was almost unknown, there was a chance that the spy now was not only dying, but dangerous.

There are spells to help an ill person recover from many illnesses and to clear a disturbed mind. Brujo had never studied them. As days passed, he grew tired of trying to deal with the feverish one's delusions and raving. This servant had proved worthless.

He could get along without servants, come to that. He could find other ways of learning about the Ten.

This fool might even have given him away, might have alerted one or more of the Ten to the fact that a deadly enemy had come into the Valley.

Two can keep a secret only if one is dead.

Brujo wished to save his energy. A magical execution would take blood, and loss of blood would weaken him.

No need for a waste of blood.

Not when a pillow pressed over the face and held there for long enough would solve the problem.

When the spy had ceased to struggle, lay limp, breathless, and already cooling, Brujo tossed the pillow aside. "What am I going to do with you?" he muttered.

The spy did not answer, being currently quite dead.

* * *

Fiddleford readily agreed to return for the Zodiac meeting when Ford asked him, and Gideon said he'd be there. He told Soos, "I'll show 'em that roid rage ain't  _nothin'_ to rage at bein' lied about!"

"Dude, don't get road rage," Soos said. "You're too young to drive, anyways."

"Uh—I won't," Gideon told him. "'Least Ghost Eyes is stickin' with me. Bless his heart, he's a loyal friend. He told me that everybody in town is spreadin' dirty gossip!"

"We'll take care of that, dawg," Soos told him.

And that left only one member of the Zodiac to persuade . . .

"She won't come?" Dipper asked Mabel.

Mabel put down her phone and shook her head. "I begged her," she told her brother, her voice breaking.

"Let me try."

Dipper took out his phone and called Pacifica, and she answered right away, "Dipper, I told Mabel that I just can't."

"Pacifica," Dipper said, "you have to."

"No, I _don't_. I didn't volunteer for this, you know! For being the llama!" She sounded resentful and angry.

"And we didn't ask to be Pine Tree and Shooting Star," Dipper replied. "But here we are. Who we are is out of our control. What we do—that's what we have in our own hands. Pacifica, I don't blame you for being afraid—"

"Who says I'm afraid?" she asked, sounding defiant, like the time she'd challenged Mabel to that ill-fated mini-golf game. "I'm not afraid!"

"Uncertain, then," Dipper corrected. "I understand, but me, I'm scared. Oh, I'm not afraid of this threat, whatever, whoever it is, as much as I am of letting everyone down. I even thought about trying to leave the Zodiac, but Pacifica, we can't. We just can't. We  _have_  to depend on each other."

"I'm so tired of all this," Pacifica wailed. "All I want is a normal life with normal parents!"

"That would be real nice," Dipper agreed. "But you were born a Northwest, and in Gravity Falls. You and I and Mabel—nobody gave us the gift of normality. It's not ours to have. Didn't you feel something special when we all stood in a circle?"

"Well, yeah! But—we did that once before. And that pyramid thing cursed me!"

"Pacifica," Dipper said, "I know what it is. You're like me, afraid of failing."

A long pause, and then in an unhappy voice, she said, "What if I am?"

"The only way to fail is not to try," Dipper told her, reaching out to squeeze Mabel's hand.

Mabel took the phone from him. "Paz," Mabel said, "this is me again. Listen: we love you. No, no, I mean it, me and Dipper and all the rest of us. When it counts, we all love you. Didn't you feel that when we were all in the circle? Yeah, that's what I mean. You're a Northwest, sure, but—Paz, we're your family, too."

Mabel listened for a few seconds and bit her lip. " _Please_  don't cry. We need you. Your family needs you, Paz. Yeah, Saturday night. About nine. Yeah, the Shack. Hey, listen, come ready for a sleepover. We won't invite Grenda and Candy this one time—just you and me and Wendy. Yeah, girl talk about how we're gonna find that liar and stomp all over his face! Okay, we'll stomp in a ladylike way. Bring heels!"

When she handed the phone back to her twin, Mabel whispered, "She's terrified."

Dipper hugged her. "I can't blame her, Sis. I can't blame her."


	4. Met by Moonlight

**Breaking the Zodiac**

**By William Easley**

**(July 2015)**

* * *

**4: Met by Moonlight**

Mabel had started to think that Pacifica wasn't coming after all, but she was the last one to show up—and she was driving, a hot blonde in a hot, brand-new red Miagi convertible. "Pacifica!" Mabel yelled, running up as Paz opened the driver's door. Mabel threw her arms across the convertible's hood. "It's so war-r-rm! How come you driving, girl?"

"Because I turned sixteen yesterday," Pacifica said.

"What?" Mabel asked, her mouth hanging open. "Sixteen? What? You didn't tell us it was your birthday? What? You have a license now? Wha-a-a-at?"

"Well, it never came up and I didn't want a fuss," Pacifica said, stepping out of the car and closing the door. "But, yeah, it's July 17. Do I look all right?"

Mabel grinned. "When don't you?" Pacifica was wearing lavender leggings, a short black skirt, and a soft lavender short-sleeved sweater top. Mabel was in her trademark shooting-star sweater. "You look fabulous!"

Dipper and Wendy had come over, too. "Gucci wheels, Pacifica!" Wendy said. "Birthday present?"

"Yeah, from my folks," Pacifica said, shrugging. "So—are we gonna do the circle thing, or what?"

They started walking around the Shack. "I'm glad you came, Paz," Dipper said.

She smiled at him. "Thanks—Dip!"

"Come on," Mabel said, taking the lead. "Everybody's around back. We're not doing the Ballet Flats death march this time."

The back lawn of the Shack was large and flat enough to accommodate the members of the Zodiac—if they weren't being ultra-super-secret about their gathering, and this time they weren't.

Stanford welcomed Pacifica and said, "All right, that's everyone. We know that somebody is trying to make life difficult for us all by spreading gossip and lies and sowing seeds of distrust in the community. That's a standard tactic of disruption—trying to distract us, to divide and conquer us, as it were. Tonight, we've come to reaffirm our commitment to each other and to see if we can come up with some ways of armoring ourselves against this shadowy foe. Dipper, before we begin, you told me you wanted to say a word."

"Yeah," Dipper said, feeling uncomfortable as all eyes turned toward him. "Um. Well, it might not work, but—OK, most of you know about that time when Wendy and I dived into Moon Trap Pond. What some of you don't know is that ever since then, she and I have been able to communicate, sort of, through touch. It's a kind of telepathy. We tried to teach Mabel how to do it, but it didn't work."

"Yeah," Wendy said, "but she still felt something. And when we weren't really trying, every now and then when we've all three been, like, riding in a car and sitting together, arms sort of touching, you know, Mabel's come up with little flashes like she's reading our minds but not aware that she's doing it."

"Feelings, too," Dipper said.

"No way!" Mabel exclaimed. "Mabel powers! Yes!"

"So," Dipper said, riding over that, "what Wendy and I would like to try tonight is, as we hold hands, we each send out a pulse of, I don't know, psychic energy? Because Soos came up with an outstanding idea."

"Yes!" Soos said. "Another burst of genius from me, Soos! Uh—what was it, dawg?"

Smiling, Dipper said, "You said you wished we could all share our strong points—you know, Ford's intelligence, so on and so forth. Wendy and I are going to try to open us all up so we each get a tiny bit of what the others have. It may not work at all, but it's worth a try."

"If it does work," Ford said, "I don't think it will literally make us share qualities. It won't turn Stan into me, or vice-versa-"

"Thank God," Stan murmured.

Ford ignored him: "But it might give us some deeper understanding of each other—understanding that is impossible for anyone else. A deepened empathy—and yes, it may awaken qualities within us that at least resemble those we admire in each other."

"Y'all, I'm plumb excited about this!" Gideon said.

"I'm not too sure about it myself," Pacifica admitted.

"We're not sharing secrets," Dipper told them all. "Just sort of opening ourselves to understanding qualities and abilities. If it works, it'll make us stronger as a team."

"Yeah, and if it flops, no great loss," Wendy said. "It may not be a win-win, but at least it's a win-no loss."

"We won't bother with the candles this time," Ford said. "Just form up any way you want. The people are what really matter, not the accoutrements, and this isn't a ritual, just a moment of sharing. My brother and I will hold hands."

Dipper found himself between Wendy and Pacifica—and Mabel held Pacifica's other hand, with Gideon on Mabel's right. The others formed up into a circle. Waddles and Widdles came sauntering over to watch, tilting their heads like improbably fat puppies.

A silvery-white crescent moon shone low over the western bluffs. Though the sun hadn't technically set, it had sunk out of sight of the people standing behind the Shack, and purple shadows had spread across most of the Valley. The air held the quiet hush of twilight. The moment the last two of them joined hands, Dipper felt the surge of positive energy.

He squeezed Wendy's hand, and as they had planned, the two began silently to urge everyone to share their best with each other. The pulsation continued, not perceptibly different from what it had been.

Then something unexpected started to happen.

This might have been a mistake, Dipper thought, unsettled as he had the strange sensation of spinning, as if the members of the Zodiac were standing on the periphery of a carousel that had whirled into action and was increasing speed.

They weren't moving, not physically, but that feeling came, as though they revolved around the center.

Something's happening, Wendy thought to him.

—I feel it too. It's making me a little dizzy.

He concentrated. He could hear the others breathing hard, panting almost, and guessed they shared the sensation. And yet—something was missing. It was like climbing the latter way up to the high-dive board, walking out to the end, and freezing, not able to make that dive into space. The exhilarating moment waited, he felt ready, but somehow he could not bring himself to leap off.

We're close, Dip! Tighten your grip!

He did, felt Pacifica's hand tighten on his, too, and sensed that everyone was doing the same thing, right from him, left from Wendy, all around the circle. Come on, come on, let it happen—

PINE TREE! RED! NEED A LITTLE PUSH? HERE YOU GO—BEST I CAN DO UNDER THE CIRCUMSTANCES!

—Bill?

From somewhere in Dipper's chest a burst of energy—invisible, so why did he think of it as yellow?—flashed out jolted each of his hands and ran from one to the other around the Zodiac.

For a heartbeat that stretched as though it went on for hours, Dipper felt them—Wendy was inside his mind, and Pacifica, and Mabel, Gideon, Fiddleford, Stan, Ford, Teek, Soos—for that eternal, fleeting instant he felt as if he knew them all, held them all in his heart as well as his mind—

It was too strong to last.

It passed, and in a shaky voice, Ford said, "I—I think we can let go now."

The instant they did, Dipper, Mabel, Wendy, and Pacifica clustered together in a group hug. "I didn't know!" Pacifica said, laughing and crying at the same time. "I thought you were just being nice to me! I didn't know you really liked me!"

"We love you, Pacifica!" Mabel said.

Teek joined them and hugged Mabel. "Mabel, thanks for being you! Guys, that—whoosh! I've always been real private, but—man!"

"I know, right?" Wendy said. "Oof!"

"Soos hug!" Soos yelled, embracing practically the whole bunch of them. "Dawgs, that totally blew my mind! Boosh! Dipper! I think I can play the guitar now!"

Fiddleford didn't hug but put his hand on Dipper's shoulder. "I feel rejuvenated," he said. "Thank you, young people, for that. My mind feels clearer than it has in years."

"Your enunciation is better too, ya old weirdo," Stan said, laughing. "Hoo-ee, Gideon, that was plumb upliftin', am I right?"

"Stanley," Gideon said, his voice quavering, "now I feel worse than ever about all that hooraw between us. I was eat up by ambition and just never understood back then how much you love your family."

And Ford added, "I was deeply moved."

They piled on him, laughing, and discovered that ticklishness was a Pines family trait.

It took ten minutes for them all to calm down. "I believe we succeeded, Dipper," Ford said. "Thank you for that."

"I'm never gonna doubt myself again," Pacifica promised. "No matter what happens, now I know what it means to have true friends."

"Means I want a ride in your car!" Mabel said. "With the top down! Yes!"

"You'll need an adult along," Stan said. "She ain't sixteen and a half yet. So, I volunteer."

"It's all coming together," Mabel announced, rubbing her hands like a master of intrigue.

"There goes the moon," Soos murmured. The silver sickle had descended to touch the bluffs off to the west. Stars were coming out in the darkening sky.

They all turned to look, and that was why they all saw the figure at the same time. It came from the forest and the gathering darkness. Waddles and Widdles seemed to sense it first—they came over to stand on either side of Mabel, either to protect her or to ask for her protection.

"What is that?" Pacifica asked, squinting into the shadows.

"A fox," Ford said.

"Russ," Mabel whispered.

Russ was, or had been, a foxen, a skin-changer something like a werewolf, except he could choose to be either human or fox—until he died in his human form. He had been reborn as a fox cub no longer capable of making the change, but in the short time he had known Mabel when he was human, he had fallen in love with her.

The small fox was not alone. It did not come close but lingered on the edge of the lawn. Behind it crept another figure in a painful, lurching crawl, hard to see, blending almost with the gathering darkness. Dipper thought it was another fox at first, but no, it was larger—

The fox bowed toward them—like a dog, forefeet stretched out, chest touching the ground—then turned and retreated. The gray creature crept forward.

"What is that?" Wendy asked.

"Wolf," Dipper said. "I think it's badly hurt."

"Hello!" Ford called. "Do you need help?"

The figure stopped, paused as if gathering strength, then rose to its hind legs and changed.

"Oh, my God!" Pacifica shouted.

"Werewolf," Stan said.

They all started forward.

"Soos," Wendy said, "There's a—"

"Blanket in your car," Soos finished. "I'll get it."

"Mabel, Paz—"

"We'll help Wendy," Pacifica said. "You guys, don't look. I don't think she wants to be stared at while she's naked."

Dipper couldn't look away—he was too worried about his sister and his Lumberjack Girl, and yes, Pacifica too—but he didn't stare at the swaying figure of the woman, didn't focus on her. She looked wounded, injured, and weak. Trembling, she tried to cover herself with her hands and arms, but then Wendy was close to her, speaking to her.

The woman's head did not rise. She seemed to be fighting to keep her balance. Soos came back with the plaid blanket and tossed it to Pacifica. Wendy took it from her and draped it around the figure's shoulders. "Come on," Dipper heard her say softly. "Don't be afraid. We'll help you. We're going inside."

The woman murmured something.

"He's here," Pacifica said. "Gideon, come and help."

They took her into the Shack and into the light. Dipper's immediate thought was She's dying.

The blanket covered her body, but her face had been savagely torn. Blood clotted her eye sockets. She was blind. It looked as though someone had slashed her throat, though the jagged wound had closed and clotted.

Ford had her lie on the sofa. She again murmured Gideon's name, and he came and after only momentary hesitation, he held her thin hand and leaned down to listen to what she was saying.

Dipper saw him twitch in surprise. Then, not dropping the woman's hand, he said, "Everybody! This is Ulva's mama! We gotta help her!"

"I'll call the doctor!" Dipper said.

Ford stopped him, gripping his shoulder. "Don't. She's a lycan, Dipper. She'll heal on her own."

"But—she's so weak—"

"Whoever did this to her undoubtedly believes she's dead," Ford told him. "But there are very few ways to kill a lycan. If she's still capable of shape-shifting, which she obviously is, then she will heal. It just takes time—time and pain."

"I'm callin' my daddy," Gideon said. "He'll drive Ulva over!"

"Do that," Stan said. "Ma'am? You're Ulva's mama, right?"

"Yesss." The woman's voice made Dipper shiver. Air hissed not only from her mouth, but from the not completely closed slit in her throat.

"She'll be here in a few minutes," Stan said.

"I tried . . . to . . . ssssave . . . you . . .."

"From what?" Ford asked.

"The night . . . you made . . . the . . . circle of . . . . lights. Sssomeone . . . ssspied on you . . . bit him . . . he injured me . . . with magic."

"You bit him?" Ford asked. "You—you turned him into a werewolf?"

She rolled her head on the sofa arm. "He . . . hasss . . . died. Killed . . . by . . . hissss . . . massster . . . before the change . . . could happen."

"That circle happened two weeks ago," Wendy said. "You've been hurt for that long? How did you get here?"

"Crawled," the woman said, pain edging her voice and making Dipper feel something of that miles-long agony. Then Melody and Abuelita came in with a basin of hot water and an armload of towels and shooed all the men and boys out.

They clustered in the snack bar adjoining the gift shop. No one felt like talking. A few minutes passed, and then Bud Gleeful led Ulva in, the wolf-girl dressed in shorts, a loose top, and moccasins. Dipper always thought she looked like a vulnerable puppy, and that night she looked like a frightened one. "Where is she at?" Bud asked, his voice hushed, like someone in a funeral parlor.

Pacifica, some drying blood smeared on her arms and hands, came to the doorway. "Your mom's in here," she said, smiling.

Ulva stepped hesitantly toward her, paused, hugged Gideon, and then rushed to Pacifica. She ushered Ulva into the parlor.

A moment later, Dipper and the others heard a heart-breaking, shuddering howl. Gideon collapsed into a chair and burst into tears and his dad sat next to him, an arm around the teen's shoulders.

"Great-Uncle Ford?" Dipper asked. "Will she—really—I mean, you said—"

"She will heal, Dipper," Ford insisted firmly. "Faster now that she's found her daughter, but it will still be a matter of months. I think she'll even get her eyes back. Lycans have an astonishing power of recovery, and I'll try to research to find out what we can do to help her. But the man who did this to her—"

"He's gonna be damn sorry," Stan growled.

"He's dead, Stanley."

"I didn't mean the bastard that died," Stan said. "I mean the bastard who sent him."

Dipper heard himself say, "He doesn't really have a name. But you can call him el Brujo."

Where did that come from?

"El Brujo?" Ford asked. "How did you know that, Dipper?"

And again, a voice that came from him but didn't seem to be his own: "Oh, I know lots of things, Sixer. Lots of things!"


	5. Creature of the Night

**Breaking the Zodiac**

**By William Easley**

**(July 2015)**

* * *

**5: Creature of the Night**

"That was intense," Pacifica said late that night. She, Wendy, and Mabel had stayed up past midnight, winding down from the high of the circle.

"Yeah, it was," Wendy agreed. The girls were in pajamas, or at least their sleeping outfits—pink shorty pajamas for Pacifica, a faded lavender tee shirt with a floppy disk print and blue shorts for Mabel, and a black sleeveless undershirt and baggy flannel pajama bottoms for Wendy. They'd let their hair down and had been joking and laughing for a while.

They'd had pizza—the whole attic smelled of pepperoni—and sodas, they'd played a few games (Hearts—Pacifica was a Hearts shark, it turned out), and they'd worked around to talking just a little about what they had felt while standing hand in hand.

But the sleepover mood had bubbled down to a subdued level. And they hadn't done all the ritual things that sleepovers called for—no impulse makeovers, no age-inappropriate romance novels or movies, not even any racy new jokes that adults would be surprised they knew.

After some moments of silence, Wendy asked, "What next?"

"No reason to play Truth or Dare. That will save some time. Heh," Mabel said, though she was looking down and to the right and nervously rubbing her upper arm as though the attic felt cold, which it didn't.

"Hey, c'mon," Wendy told her, grinning. "You and Teek smooch a lot! You love cuddling with him. Like we didn't already know that!"

"Yeah . . ." Mabel said, blushing. "But you and Dip—you've had sex!"

"No-o-ot really," Wendy told her. "Not physically at all. Mental make-out, we call it. I mean, like, we just hold hands and we can make each other feel like we're you know, really doin' it. We can even hit big O territory. But it's not physical. Physically, we haven't done much more than you and Teek have."

"Mental make-out, huh? Still, that's more than I've ever done," Mabel said. "I've always been kinda at the forefront of emotional expression, compared to Dipper."

"I notice you're not talking about me," Pacifica said, smiling.

"Didn't want to invade your privacy," Wendy said. "But, hey, you've made out a little with a few guys. It's not like you're sleeping around! And you haven't ever gone all the way."

"I might, though," Pacifica muttered. "Jude is awfully tempting. I mean, Adam, yeah, I really like him and we're thinking about getting back together, and it's true Jude will go back to Canada at the end of August and I'll probably never see him again, but—he's so different! Jude's handsome and he's strong and athletic—he plays on his school's soccer team. By contrast, Adam's a dork."

"Don't run down dorks, girl," Wendy said.

"Yeah," agreed Mabel. "It's like show dogs—some guys are like wire-haired terriers, best of show, real impressive, jocks, performers, and all that. But dorks are great! Dorks know how to love and they love to snuggle! Dorks are the beagles of the boy world!"

"Yeah, and Teek and Dip are dorks and proud of it," Wendy said. Then, more softly, she added, "I knew you had a thing for Dipper, Paz. I didn't know you beat yourself up so much about missing the boat with him."

"Yeah," Pacifica admitted. "But, you know, he and I talked it out, and he's right. I'd be all the time wanting to change him, and if I did—he wouldn't be Dipper any longer." She smiled ruefully. "It's all I can do to change myself. I just hope—you know—if it's not Adam and it's not Jude, I hope there's still a boy out there somewhere who clicks with me the same way I click with him."

"It's a big world, Pacifica," Mabel said. "And you're beautiful. You'll get there."

Pacifica bopped Mabel with a pillow. "Before we were in each other's heads," she told Mabel, "I never understood how happy you are. Most of the time, anyway. There's a lot to be said for being random!"

Mabel had picked up the pillow but had not returned the blow. "I wonder how much of all this will stick with us," she murmured. "I mean—for that one moment it was like we were all so close! But now it's like we're remembering something from a long time ago."

"I think what matters most will stick," Wendy said. "Now, about this obsession you have with skinny-dipping—"

" _Me?"_  Mabel yelled, whacking Wendy with the pillow. "Hey, it just seems like the ultimate freedom to me, and I'd like to try it once, that's all!  _You're_ the one who fantasizes about getting done by a guy while floating in the water!"

"I felt that too!" Pacifica said. "That was you, Wendy?"

Wendy was blushing. "Hey, it's a fantasy, it's not like I've ever really tried it! It just comes to me when I'm feeling all dreamy and, you know—"

"Yeah, dreamy and sort of hot and bothered, oh, girl, we know!" Mabel chortled. "So, Paz—doin' it with a guy on  _horseback_? How'd you keep from falling off?"

It was Pacifica's turn to glow pink. "I don't  _know_! But it'd be more exciting than finger-painting each other, Art Girl!"

They screamed with laughter, and would have woken Dipper, if he and Ford hadn't been down on the second level of the underground lab.

"I'm positive it was Bill Cipher's voice, Mason," Ford said. "Yet none of my instruments indicate that you are or were possessed."

Dipper sat hunched over in a tall chair, the table surface hard beneath his elbows. "I keep telling you," he insisted, "I think it's just like in the Mindscape—the tiny little speck of Bill that's still in my heart, I don't know, channeled him somehow and let him momentarily speak through me. It wasn't like that time with the puppet show."

For a few seconds, the only sounds came from the computers and machines, low hums and electronic beeps. Then Ford reached for his Journal 4 and thumbed through it until he found the pages where he'd recorded Dipper's story of Mabel's puppet show and of being tricked by Bill Cipher—"You're  _my_  puppet now!"

Scanning though what he'd written, Ford nodded. "This accords with my own experiences. While Bill was possessing me—and I allowed that more than once, humiliating as the admission is—I hovered nearby as a disembodied intelligence. I was outside my own body."

"Yeah," Dipper agreed. "Bill told me that without—what was it—a vessel to possess, I was essentially a ghost. I latched onto a sock puppet of me and managed to use that, sort of, until Mabel figured out a way to chase Bill out of my real body. Anyway, this time it wasn't like that. I mean, I know I wasn't disembodied, was still in my body, but it was like Bill was just taking over my voice temporarily."

"Does Bill exist only in you now?" Ford asked.

"I . . . don't think so," Dipper said. "When I got in touch with him in the Mindscape, he definitely seemed to be somewhere physical, but not in the stone effigy and not inside me. It was completely dark, warm, and, I don' t know—floaty? But it was a separate physical existence. I think this little chip of Bill in me was more like an antenna? Picking up Bill's thoughts or something, I mean."

"Yet it doesn't work with two-way communication."

"Not so far." Dipper hesitated, but he had a feeling that, after the circle experience, Ford already knew anyway. "Bill's claimed that the few molecules he used to re-start my heart that time are the reason why I got the nerve to go out for track. And they supposedly encouraged me to go for my second wind the time I won my first race, when I was about to give up. And—well—they made me more, um, outgoing with Wendy—"

"I understand," Ford said. "Bill has encouraged you, but not dominated you. Perhaps that's part of, well, we might call it his penance, the debt he owes the Oracle for getting a second chance after Weirdmageddon."

"He's random and chaotic," Dipper said. "Insane, too. But not as—evil? Uncaring? I don't know, a little nicer than he used to be. That sounds so crazy."

"I'm wary of Cipher," Ford admitted. "True, he's helped us more than harmed us these last few years—helped Stan and me find the Fountain of Youth, even saved your life. Yet I can't shake the suspicion that he may be lulling us into complacency, rebuilding his strength slowly and working up to another attack."

"Coming from me, this seems so stupid to say," Dipper muttered, "but I trust him. I think—maybe Mabel and I understand Bill better than anybody else in the world. You remember how for that one instant all of us in the Zodiac saw each other's minds so clearly and accepted everything without blame or regret? It—it's sort of like that with me and Bill. Because of these molecules, we have this understanding. I can't explain it."

"Mason," Ford said, "man to man: How certain are you that this threat, this Brujo if we call him that, is not under Bill's domination, not a pawn of his?"

"I can't be a hundred per cent sure," Dipper said. He paused and then added, "But I'd be willing to bet my life on it."

* * *

Manipulating a fresh corpse, and one that had died of relatively non-traumatic causes, was easier than handling one that had been mangled or that had died of a long, wasting disease. Brujo rode in the cold brain of his former servant, making it lurch toward the Mystery Shack—more and more, Brujo had become persuaded that this spot, if anywhere, was Ground Zero for the strangeness in Gravity Falls, and the center of the power he was determined to drain.

A disadvantage of possessing a zombie was the diminished sensations. The body blundered through springy young pine trees, but its nostrils could not detect their scent. The lashings of the branches across face and open eyes registered as thumps, not stings. As weapons go, a zombie was a blunt instrument, a clumsy one for Brujo to manipulate as he moved against the Ten.

He didn't intend to kill any of them, not tonight. If it came to that, if he had to sacrifice some of the Ten to gain access to the rest, he would do it. But tonight—misdirection. The Ten had to be suspicious by now. Perhaps their secret meeting had been aimed at conceiving a plan to resist him—though they could not possibly have an inkling of who, or what, he was.

Tonight would be a raid. The big one, the stupid one, had children. Babies. And nothing demoralized a foe more than the loss of a child, especially if it was taken inside the parent's house.

The figure lurched up the hillside—Brujo was not very distant, bleeding, paying the price for the magic it took to animate a corpse—but far enough away to be out of sight of the Mystery Shack and its occupants.

The lifeless eyes perceived light inside the house—unusual, since midnight had come and gone—one yellow triangular window gleamed, and the parking area and porches had lights, too. No other interior lights showed, though, just that one high up. It might be an empty room or an attic. Probably nothing to worry about.

The plan was simplicity: Burst through the door. The people would rush to protect the weakest, the children. Force through, dispatch at least one of the children, and then—abandon the corpse, let it return to inert death. No one nowadays believed in zombies. No one knew how to fight one. Short of dismemberment, of crushing the brain or burning the body in fire, the vessel could fight off attackers until the mission was finished—

The reanimated corpse fell backward. The air before it had turned solid, had sent out an electric shock that momentarily seized up its muscles and left it stiff and helpless.

Inside the dead brain, Brujo raged—a  _magical barrier_? Impossible! Where lived the magician these days strong enough to erect such a thing? Nowhere—he was the only one strong enough, wise enough, learned enough!

Had the body been an actual zombie, it might possibly have passed through unscathed. The magical field enclosing its brain, though, the spell that allowed Brujo to possess it and manipulate it like a meat puppet—that could not penetrate!

Furiously, as he forced the body to regain its footing, Brujo reasoned and calculated. Before, in disguise, he had visited the Mystery Shack—nothing had kept him out then! But at that time, he had wrought no magic spells. So, the protection kept out other-worldly forces and perhaps beings, but not humans. He would have to remember that.

A door opened, and an oblong of light showed momentarily. Someone was leaving the house. If that person ventured beyond the limits of the boundary—and they were not vast, from what Brujo could tell—then he still might make at least one kill tonight. He wanted to use this flesh puppet, after all, not to waste it.

The figure was a man in a long tan coat. He walked into the parking lot and toward a black or dark-blue parked car. Surely, he was outside the dome of protection now—

Brujo forced the zombified corpse forward, shambling, trying to gain speed. The man turned, light flashing on his spectacles, and Brujo recognized Stanford Pines, the six-fingered hand.

Perhaps he was the leader of the Zodiac. Perhaps without him the others would fall easy prey—

"Davies?" Ford asked. "Why are you here?"

The recently deceased had in life been Lawrence Davies, an electrician who had worked for Manly Dan Corduroy on the two houses being constructed down the hill, but who had not been immune to a promise of big money for some secret work done for the man called Brujo. Brujo had even given him a little magic of his own to use, and perhaps some of that lingered. A dim awareness must have lingered in the dead brain, because suddenly the body croaked, "Run!" and the warning was none of Brujo's doing.

He forced the body to lunge to grip Stanford—

But with a surprising agility, Stanford hit the hood of the car, rolled across, and landed on the far side. Before Brujo could make the clumsy corpse react, Stanford had unlocked the passenger door, slid inside the car, and relocked it, the slam of the door echoing. He was hastily dialing his phone. Distantly, through the zombie's barely-functional ears, Brujo heard him bellow one muffled word: "Zombie!"

Then the dead fists pounded on the car window.

Stanford, whose occupation of researching dangerous anomalies had made him ultra-cautious, had long before replaced the factory-standard auto windows with impact-resistant glass. It wasn't completely bulletproof, but it would deflect anything up to about a .38 slug and would slow a .45. The glass flexed and boomed but did not shatter.

Brujo slammed the window again and again. A crack sprang up it, a crooked lightning bolt.

More people came running from the shack—four of them. Brujo turned on them, snarling. One was a tall, long-haired girl, wielding—an axe?  _Ice!_   _Let her alone. Avoid that one. If she severs the neck—_

Two were shorter girls, one dark-haired, one blonde. The last one, the boy, could have been brother to the dark-haired girl, a teen with messy brown hair.

_More of the ten! Ice! Shooting Star! Llama! Pine Tree!_

Well, if he couldn't reach Stanford Pines, Six-Finger—one of the younger ones would do.

_The death of a child always demoralizes the foe._

Brujo forced the corpse to swivel and lurch toward the oncoming young people. Which one, which one . . . ?


	6. Weakness

**Breaking the Zodiac**

**By William Easley**

**(July 2015)**

* * *

 

**6: Weakness**

Ford cranked down the driver's side window and yelled, "Kids! Run! Get back to the house!"

Wendy dodged around and advanced toward the shambling form that menaced them, but Dipper yelled, "Wendy! Don't try it! Get in the car with Ford! Trust me!"

"We got this!" Mabel yelled. They backed away.

Wendy had heard and ran for the car. Ford leaned across and opened the passenger door, and she leaped in, slammed it, and locked it. "Start the engine," she said. "Maybe we can run over it!"

"That wouldn't help!" Ford said. "What are they doing?"

Pacifica, Mabel, and Dipper retreated across the lawn, but not heading directly toward the Shack, not going for its protective field. The staggering, determined figure was slow, but it gained on them. Mabel took her stand near the totem pole. "Paz, Dip, 'Taking Over Midnight!' Ready? Sing! 'Friday night, gonna party 'til dawn—' Come on, Paz,  _sing!_ "

They retreated behind the totem pole and began to circle around it, keeping it between them and the monster. Pacifica asked, " _Ampersandra_? Really? That's so lame! Anyway, I don't even  _know_ that song!"

"We gotta sing in three-part harmony!" Dipper yelled.

The zombie feinted, and they misread its movement. It passed the totem pole and they had to back away downhill—away from the pole but also ever farther from the safety of the Shack.

Pacifica said, "Let's do 'Always and Forever' instead!"

"Don't know it! We gotta do something! He's getting closer!" Mabel yelled.

"One we all know!" Dipper shouted. "Twinkle, twinkle—"

Mabel nodded. "Paz, first soprano, me second, Dip alto!"

"—little star—wait, what?"

"Tenor! Tenor! Sing  _loud_ , Paz!"

With quavering voices, the three started the kindergarten melody:

_Twinkle, twinkle little star,_

_How I wonder what you are—_

_Up above the world so high—_

_Like a diamond in the sky—_

* * *

They couldn't back away much more—a wall of underbrush and thorny vines walled off their retreat. The monstrous creature, back-lit by the Shack's parking-lot lights, had fixated on Pacifica and stretched out gnarled hands for her, growling, bubbling in its chest—

"Harmonize!" Mabel yelled.

Though frightened, Pacifica began to belt it out, jazzing the tempo, improvising. Mabel kept up, and at last Dipper harmonized:

_Those who travel in the dark_

_Thank you for your tiny spark._

_They would not know which way to go,_

_If you did not twinkle so—_

* * *

" _Louder!"_ Mabel yelled. As the zombie came down the slope, it was hard to make out any details about it this far away from the parking-lot lights. More a silhouette than a three-dimensional creature, the thing was three lurching steps away—

_When the evening sun has set,_

_When the grass with dew is wet,_

_Then we see you from afar,_

_Twinkle, twinkle, little star!_

* * *

Ford had wrenched the Lincoln in a tight turn and it bounced over a concrete parking stop, off the paved lot, and onto the grass. Its bobbing yellow-white headlights caught the monster in their twin beams, painting half of it nearly white against the dark.

Beside Ford, Wendy yelled, "I  _know_  that guy!"

And that happened just as Dipper, Mabel, and Pacifica hit their stride on the refrain and their voices crescendoed in beautiful three-part harmony: "Twinkle, twinkle, little sta-a-ar!"

_Brujo felt agonizing lashes of pain. The corpse's vision flared and faded. Another step, a grab, and he'd strangle the little—_

_BOOSH!_

"Ew!" Pacifica exclaimed, jumping away from the splash zone. The zombie's head had just—well, had just exploded. Mooshy, jelly-like stuff erupted and splattered all around.

The body jerked and fell, well, not face-down, really, because it no longer had a face. Fell flat on its belly with a final-sounding flop.

"Yes!" Mabel said, dancing and pumping the air. "That's what I'm talking about!"

Ford and Wendy had spilled out of the Lincoln and came running down the hillside. "Are you three all right?" Ford asked.

"Man!" Wendy said, standing over the fallen figure. "I'd chop off what's left of its head, but there's nothing left! That was  _awesome_ , dudes!"

"That was someone I knew," Ford gasped, looking as if he were about to be extremely sick.

"Was it really Mr. Davies?" Wendy asked, prodding the slack, sprawled body with her hatchet. It did not move. "He was always, like,  _creepy_ , but I didn't know he was some kinda monster!"

"Yes, it was he," Ford said. "He looked recently dead, and he had transformed into a zombie." He shook his head. "We used to get them in Gravity Falls when I first moved here. There's no real defense against them, unless you chop off the head or otherwise destroy the brain. I did learn one weakness of theirs, though—were you kids singing?"

"Yeah, we were!" Mabel said.

Dipper said, "Great-uncle Ford, we learned that from you. You wrote it in Journal 3: perfect three-part harmony can shatter a zombie's skull. It was written in invisible ink!"

"Ah, yes, I do recall learning and writing that!" Ford said. "The two of you are telling me that you even deciphered my invisible writing?"

"Mabel figured it out," Dipper said.

"Aw, it was no big deal," Mabel said, spreading her hands. "It was just that I saved everybody's lives when Dipper raised the dead."

"I was trying to show off to the government guys," Dipper muttered.

"Guess we should haul this guy off and bury him," Wendy said. "Don't think he had a family. Too ornery. And no friends, 'cause even Dad thought he was mean, so that tells you something. What do you say? Burial or cremation?"

"Bottomless pit!" Mabel said.

"Uh—won't he come out again in twenty-two minutes?" Dipper asked.

"Not in his current condition," Ford said. "Only living organic material is returned. A dead body, no. It would be gone for good."

He and Wendy dragged the body, while Dipper, Mabel, and Pacifica followed along. They left behind some scattered fragments and goop, but as Mabel said cheerfully, "I'll ask the Gnomes to clean up. They'll dispose of everything."

"You don't want to ask her how," Dipper warned Pacifica.

Mabel was chortling. "Hey, Broseph, do you remember the time that we all fell into the Bottomless Pit? So much fun! That was a great family bonding time!"

"The stories were stupid," Dipper said.

"Yeah, except for mine!" Mabel insisted. "Hey, you couldn't tell yours now, Brobro. Your voice is like—" she deepened her own—"all mature now! Nice light baritone on the singing, by the way."

"Was that baritone?" Dipper asked.

"Yeah! Mabel waved jazz hands. Remember when your voice was all squeaky and  _hilarious_?"

"Hey, let's do the reminiscences later," Pacifica said in an impatient tone. "Did we just  _kill_ the monster that was attacking us all?"

By then Wendy and Ford had reached the Bottomless Pit and had stepped over the knee-high fence that Soos had put around it to protect children and small dogs. They reached down to the body and between the two of them, they lifted it, Ford at the shoulders and Wendy at the heels. With a one-two-three, they swung it and launched it, and it dropped into oblivion.

Wiping his hands, though he was wearing gloves, Ford stepped back over the barrier and said, "Have we destroyed the one who's attacking us? Almost certainly not, Pacifica. Brujo, as we heard he is called, is obviously a powerful user of cursed magic. I feel sure that he is responsible for raising this zombie and sending it after us. He's somewhere alive and well at this very minute."

Stanford was only partly right. Brujo _was_  alive, but he was far from well.

He had not been prepared for the song. He had never learned about the power of harmony and resonance to destroy a zombie's brain case. And when the brain had exploded, his controlling spirit had been riding along inside it, directing the creature's intentions and actions.

He had thought using the zombie was perfectly safe, for him, at least.

True, he had feared the axe that the Ice girl, Wendy, wielded, but even if it destroyed Davies's body, that would not injure him, and he would have known to withdraw before the brain could be disintegrated. Also, he had felt sure that before she could sever his minion's neck, he would have been able to bite or scratch her deeply enough to draw blood, zombifying one of the Zodiac—and that would be quite as satisfying as killing one of the children.

But the three younger, weaker ones somehow used  _sound_  against the zombie—and the infuriated Brujo did not understand that. He had not clearly heard what they were doing, since Davies's ears were failing fast, but he suspected it might be a powerful magic incantation. And the shock of being expelled when the brain exploded had shaken Brujo deeply. In his own body, he had fallen hard, sprawling face-down the instant the zombie whose brain he was inhabiting perished.

Now Brujo pushed himself up from the gravel. Every joint flared with knife-sharp pain. Blood drooled from his mouth and nose, a startling amount of it. Powerful evil magic carried a high cost in blood. Coughing, retching, Brujo was weak and could not stand, but he crawled on hands and knees to the inconspicuous car he'd bought—used, battered, looking like a poor man's car, a twenty-year-old faded tan Escort. Nobody would look at it twice, but it ran. That was its main resemblance to an automobile.

He had left the driver's door standing open against the advent of a quick getaway. Good thing, too. He hauled himself up, taking more weight with his arms than his legs, and managed to scramble behind the wheel. For a few seconds he breathed heavily, wiping thick blood from his chin and lips, and then he closed the door, turned the key, and started the engine.

He had parked facing the highway. Without switching on the headlights, he pulled out and turned left, swerving across lanes as he fought dizziness. Luckily, Gravity Falls rolled up the sidewalks around ten p.m. Once he made his second turn, he fired up the headights. Driving slowly and a little more skillfully, he skirted the town and took the cracked asphalt road that led to the house, barely better than a hut, where he lived.

By the time he reached it, he had recovered enough to walk, but he felt drained, terribly weak. He went in, drank a pint of water and followed that with a pint of wine. He had to rest, had to recover, had to regenerate the lost blood.

He ran more water in the bathroom sink and washed his blood-stained face and hands. He tore off the bloody shirt he wore and with a washcloth scrubbed more drying blood from his chest. He re-bandaged the cuts in his arms where he had shed the blood that allowed him to animate and inhabit a corpse. He ruined two towels mopping everything up. Tomorrow he would burn the bloody rags. The house had been built for a logger and it did include one amenity: a backyard incinerator. Tomorrow he would have the strength to use it.

He pulled on a undershirt and checked the bandages on his arms again. No seepage. He gasped as, holding onto a wall for support, he limped into his bedroom and let himself tumble onto the bed. Fumbling, he drew a blanket over himself. Serious blood loss makes a person feel cold.

_Curse them._  He would not subvert the children after all, would not corrupt then. They had to die for this.

Especially the twins.

He fell not into but toward sleep, his pulse thready and slow. In that middle state of consciousness, he half-dreamed of triumph, but at the same time even his drowsing mind knew that he could not squander so much blood in so short a time. He would have to wait, gather strength, sharpen his strategy.

The Ten had other weak points to exploit. He had become too eager. His was a game of waiting until the right moment, and the right moment lay there somewhere in the future. All he had to do was spot it.

He had not won, but he did not consider himself a loser. This was a skirmish, not even a battle, let alone the war. The Ten had prevailed, temporarily.

But a day of reckoning would come.

Not soon enough for him—he wanted it right now.

But all the same, it would come.


	7. Waiting is the Worst

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the hiatus! I suddenly got hit with a deadline for some professional (you know, paying) writing and had to take care of that.

**Breaking the Zodiac**

**By William Easley**

**(July 2015)**

* * *

**7: Waiting is the Worst**

_My direst spell now begins,_

_Round the ruined church widdershins,_

_Circle once, circle twice,_

_And while chanting, circle thrice._

* * *

In the days that passed after the zombie attack, the Ten tried as best they could to carry on with their everyday lives. That meant that Ford and Dipper plunged deep into research—though Dipper suspected that Ford took the heavy lifting on himself. While Ford studied ancient Latin and Greek tomes, read transcripts of terrible and forbidden books, and tried to learn more about Brujo and his origins, Dipper became an explorer of the town, seeking allies.

He discovered that his paranoia—not clinical, just an inclination—had magnified the malicious gossip. Blubs and Durland might take a stern view of the exaggerated and wild stories, but others dismissed them.

Lazy Susan was as friendly as ever. Manly Dan cursed the lazy so-and-so Davies, who'd upped and left without even turning in his notice, meaning he had to scramble to find a qualified electrician for his construction crew. When Soos put him in touch with Mr. Sawyer (he worked as safety and compliance engineer for the mud flap factory, but he liked to put in some work on his own time to supplement his income), both men were happy and gracious. Mr. Sawyer's kids even came over to the Shack in the afternoons, and Mabel played happily with them.

Toby Determined, now a sportscaster, poo-poohed the rumors. "Poo-pooh," he said. "Who pays attention to crazy stories like that?" Bud Gleeful assured Dipper, "Son, I tell you, anybody who runs down Stanley and Stanford to my face is gonna regret it." Mayor Cutebiker offered to give the twins a secret award for their secret services during Never Mind About All That, providing they kept it secret.

Dipper began to suspect that the person behind most of the rumors had been the late Mr. Davies. With him gone, things leveled out.

Wendy didn't make a big deal out of it, but Dipper knew she made it her business to stay closer to both him and Mabel. She rarely let them far out of her sight, and these days her favorite axe—the one with a special silver edge—always rode in its scabbard concealed beneath her hair. When Teek and Mabel dated, it was now always a double date with Dipper and Wendy—and sometimes triple, with Pacifica and Jude squeezed into the car, too.

Jude seemed a little puzzled by all this togetherness, but Pacifica told him, "Hey, it's a small-town thing."

Stan hung out at the Shack a lot more. He traded off as Mr. Mystery with Soos, and he seemed as jovial and overbearingly cheerful as he had been back when Mabel and Dipper were twelve. Frequently Sheila came over, too, and helped around the Shack, babysitting—Little Soos loved her, and she often took care of Harmony Rose, now close to three months old and an alert baby, with all the baby moods of chuckles one moment and storms of wails the next.

Business started to pick up again. Post-July 4, it always tapered off. After the wave of malicious rumors died down, it had come back to normal, or near-normal, and Soos said they were making a good profit. "'Sides," he said, "we'll be in the run-up to Labor Day next month, and that's when it gets like crazy bonkers coocoo busy again, dawgs."

Fiddleford was working long hours in his labs—he had three in the Mansion, one devoted to automatons (mostly robots, but other AI applications, too), one to chemistry, and one to electronics and computers. Dipper knew he was getting shipments of materials and equipment, but Fiddleford kept quiet about his plans. "No use hatchin' the egg afore the worm crawls close," he said. That probably made sense.

"Don't get complacent," Stan warned Dipper and Mabel frequently. "The second you let your guard down, boom! There comes the unexpected left jab, right in your snoot!"

They promised him they'd watch their snoots. That made Mabel walk around cross-eyed one day, until she banged into the doorjamb. Then she just said she'd keep her guard up.

Another part of Dipper's private research was very quietly getting in touch with representatives of Gravity Falls's paranormal population. Jeff assured him the Gnomes would help. Though Jeff's relationship with Dipper remained just a trifle cool, they were friends, but even more, Jeff and his Gnomes owed Ford and Stan a lot for helping them join the community of Gravity Falls.

Once upon a time, people would scream and run—or grab a shovel and swat—if a Gnome came within their sight. Now they greeted each other cordially (though humans rarely used a Gnome's personal name, finding them hard to tell apart). The Gnomes became canny businessmen, specializing in garbage removal and pest control. Jeff had even come up with a slogan—which, to his delight, Dipper set to music:

* * *

_Hey, is your house plagued by a mouse?_

_If you're nervous, try our service!_

_We're the best at catching pests!_

_For mouse-free homes, depend on Gnomes._

* * *

Stan even fronted them the money to make a TV spot, which aired on the local channel around midnight each night. Lilliputtians dressed in tiny mouse costumes sang the jingle and danced, and then Jeff, very natty in a tiny conservative suit and tie (invisible under his beard) made the pitch and gave the number to call.

It was a cell-phone number, the only phone the whole Gnome colony owned. A female Gnome with a very pleasant voice, Dimuenda, always answered and made the appointments. More than one human male, entranced by her voice, had even tried to date her. She usually sent these guys a photo of herself, and after realizing she was only fourteen inches tall and had a luxurious brown beard, they changed their minds about dating her. Well, except for that one time.

The Manotaurs were staunchly on Stan's side, and friendly toward Dipper, whom they'd made an honorary Man after overruling Leaderaur, who now ruled a much friendlier, though still crazily testosterone-driven, crew. Nowadays they ventured into town, not as often as the Gnomes, but enough to become an accepted sight. Many of them loved to hang out at the Skull Fracture, where they were lousy customers—they didn't like alcohol, preferring shots of beef broth and lots of jerky on the side—but were great at attracting human customers who, after a few beers, were certain to challenge a Manotaur to arm-wrestling or similar manly contests.

Chutzpar, Pituataur, and young Geetaur met with Dipper and assured him they'd put down any gossipers. "But don't pound them into the ground," Dipper said. "Just correct them."

"We'll set them straight," Pituataur growled, pounding his left palm with his right fist. "Ow! Ow! Ow!"

The Lilliputtians still were, at best, neutral. Small though they were, they nursed huge rivalries, and they had never quite forgiven Mabel fully for that episode with the stickers—though, grudgingly, they did admit that they owed their lives to the Pines family, because of the terrible things that had happened during Weirdmageddon and the shelter that Stan had offered them. However, since the tiny living golf balls didn't speak to the majority of humans, they didn't figure much in the anti-gossip campaign.

Tad Strange never trafficked in gossip. Besides, he was rarely even in town these days, because Sev'ral Timez had come back into popularity and were off on a long summer tour, and Tad was their manager now. The group responded well to Tad's enthusiastic coaching after every performance. It was always either "That was nice" or "We'll do better next time." Those were the kind of directions the members of the group could understand. The guys, of course, were staunch supporters of Mabel, though Dipper thought it was just as well they'd be out of state through August. In a real emergency, their help was like a pleasant harmonizing hum in a farting contest.

And speaking of music, Robbie and Tambry, with the Tombstones, had recorded their album, which now was in post-production. They would begin college in the fall, at OSU in Corvallis—about a hundred miles from Gravity Falls—and had already found an apartment there. The plan was for Tambry to major in Secondary Education and for Robbie to try a double major in Music and Business Administration. They'd play gigs on weekends. All but one of the Tombstones had managed to latch onto day jobs in the area, and the holdout, a drummer, could be replaced by local talent.

Both Robbie's and Tambry's parents were good friends of the Pines family. They'd rally around should the Zodiac Ten need their help, as would their kids. Dipper hoped that wouldn't be called for. As for Robbie and Tambry, they seemed so happy as a young married couple that he considered them an excellent example for him and Wendy.

Also on the music scene: once Dipper even ran into Toot-Toot McBumbersnazzle, formerly Blind Ivan. He had developed quite a bit of skill with the banjo and made a living roaming the Pacific Northwest and playing gigs in coffee shops and at folk concerts. He seemed very happy but vague. If he missed his days as the knob of Bill Cipher's gearshift, he didn't show it.

The pendulum swung, the gossip bubbled down, and life went on.

Which is not to say that some odd and sinister things didn't happen, because quite a few did.

* * *

_Lords of darkness, powers great,_

_Work my will and bring them woe,_

_Evil to the ones I hate!_

* * *

_Raise me high and bring them low!_

As Brujo worked the spell—not really the direst spell, not even in the top ten, but one designed to bring worry and confusion to enemies—he had nothing specific in mind. It would, if done correctly, bring them trouble and worry. That was the main thing now, keeping them off-balance while he regained his strength after the zombie fiasco.

He had decided the fault lay in Davies. He had thought the man a good pawn, but something in him was fundamentally untrustworthy. Even dead, with only some tiny shred of soul clinging to the body, Davies had tried to thwart him, had warned Stanford Pines!

He should have bailed then, abandoned the body, let it collapse. Now Brujo realized he might have called the police anonymously and reported a suspicious death on the grounds of the Mystery Shack—but using pawns second-hand, sending Blubs to do the damage, did not appeal to Brujo. He wanted to see the suffering in the eyes of the Ten as he drained their power, reduced them to idiocy or helplessness. That would sweeten the feast.

Outside the ruined church in the woods—such spells always worked best if done, as in insult to the powers of light, on the grounds of a formerly consecrated building—Brujo cut his finger and squeezed just a few drops of blood onto the earth. Fortunately, this spell did not take much.

He hadn't much to spare.

And the spell flew out, causing, at most, mischief . . ..

* * *

Pacifica rode when she was tense. Her father and mother were off to Sacramento that week, more business meetings, more marketing schemes. Wellington, their butler/chauffeur, had driven them. That left only the cook, the maid, and the stable and yard man in residence at her house.

Wellington was the only one she talked to very much. He had proved surprisingly sympathetic over the last couple of years.

Now home was boring. Adam would be out of town until August. Jude was busy.

She was even bored with riding Desperado.

Fortunately, she had her shiny red Miagi convertible. And as a new driver, she needed practice. She took off one morning just to explore some back-county roads. A city girl—well, if you could call Gravity Falls a city, which would be stretching things—Pacifica had never been much interested in the sticks. But the roads were a challenge.

Feeling cool with the top down, she drove up past Big Bear Ridge, then along the switchback trail along the crest of it. She descended again and took the long curving road past Big Dome, not realizing there was a UFO buried beneath the huge green hill. Then she took Forest Trail, which meandered uphill, not too far from the bluffs, and ran beside a stream and over a couple of bridges.

Just before she got to Chapman Bridge—a high one—she heard loud pops, and the steering wheel jerked out of her hands. The car careened wildly, fishtailing. Instinctively, Pacifica pumped the brakes. She was going to miss the bridge, she was going to plunge over the side of the bluff, down thirty feet to the rocky streambed below—

The Miagi slewed around in a cloud of choking dust and came to rest at the extreme verge of the drop. If she opened the driver's door, if she even shifted her weight, it might tip the car over.

With extreme care, Pacifica edged over to the passenger side, opened the door, and threw herself out. She landed on the ground and on hands and knees. She got up, dusting herself off, and saw that she'd torn her jeans and skinned a knee. "Damn!"

She walked three-quarters of the way around the Miagi—she had to stop there because the fourth side was the drop-off, and she couldn't walk on air.

All four tires had blown simultaneously. Balling her fists, Pacifica growled, "What the hell?"

She trudged back along the roadway for fifty yards and found the black rubber streaks where she'd lost control. Nothing on the road explained the blow-outs. There was no scattered sharp debris, nothing that could have punctured a tire.

Pacifica took out her phone and checked. One bar. One lousy bar. She muttered, "I swear, when Daddy gets back home, I'm going to talk him into building a cell tower on top of Big Dome. This is just ridiculous!"

Normally she would have called home—Dad probably would be busy at work, but Mom would send Wellington out, and everything would be all right. Since they were away in Sacramento, instead she called Mabel.

"Pacifica!" Mabel answered. "You been horseback riding with anybody today, you wild thing?"

And to her annoyance with herself, and much to her surprise, Pacifica started to cry. "Mabel, I need help."

Mabel's voice became serious: "What's wrong? Is somebody after you?"

"No, no, I had an auto accident."

"Are you all right? Do I need to call 911? What happened?"

Gulping and occasionally sobbing, Pacifica told her what had happened, how she had four flat tires and a car teetering on the edge of disaster. "Oh, my gosh!" Mabel said. "I'll get somebody up there ASAP! Don't move!"

"I can't, unless I want to walk like five miles!" Pacifica said. She bit her lip. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to snap at you. Hurry, please. I'm scared up here."

"I'll call you back in five minutes!"

It was two. "Help is on the way!" Mabel said. "Just on the far side of Chapman Bridge, right?"

"Uh-huh. Hurry. I'm all alone. There's not even any traffic."

"Dip's already worked on that. Somebody will be there even before we can arrive."

Pacifica went to a big pine tree and sat on the grass at its base, her knees drawn up. She . . . just wasn't that outdoorsy. She could hear the rush of the water down in the ravine—the creek fed into Gravity Falls Lake eventually, but here it was a shallow white-water torrent. She heard the cries of birds and the hammering of woodpeckers. It all made her nervous.

She felt alone and exposed.

And then—in the trees behind her, something big rustled. Alarmed, she sprang up and looked around for something, a stick, a rock, anything she could use—

"Pacifica?"

It was a deep, inhuman voice. She knew it. "Multibear?"

The bizarre bear lumbered out of the forest. "Dipper called me and told me you'd be here. My den is not far away. Do you want to wait there?"

She relaxed. The Multibear had been a pillar of comfort back during Weirdmageddon. Grotesque though he looked, he was kind, considerate, and intelligent, and not wild at all, except for head number three, which he occasionally had to smack into submission. "Thanks," she said, "but Mabel's sending help. I'd better stay near my car."

"Then I shall stay with you." Multibear settled down, leaning against the same tree. Because of his unusual physique, he could sit only with great care and on one hip. Otherwise, he would inconvenience one of his heads.

"Here," Multibear said, spreading his left arm. "Lean on me."

"Thanks."

He was soft and warm. And powerful and so strange-looking that even fierce creatures gave him the widest of berths. "You're a good friend," she murmured.

"When you look like I do, you learn to be gentle," the creature rumbled.

They waited for half an hour, and then the Shack's pickup truck rattled up the road and across the bridge. Soos and Dipper climbed out. "Pacifica, dawg," Soos said, "are you hurt?"

"Skinned my knee a little, that's all," she said.

"Dude," Soos said to Dipper, "my first-aid kit, like stat, dawg!"

Dipper fetched it, Pacifica rolled up her jeans leg, and Dipper applied antibiotic ointment and a bandage. Soos was for splints and an improvised stretcher, but Dipper managed to talk him into dealing with the Miagi instead.

They examined its precarious situation—"Man!" Dipper said. "You're so lucky! Another foot, and the car would be a goner!"

"And the girl driving it, too," Pacifica added.

"OK, dudes," Soos said. "I got the winch, but this is real tricky. Mr. Multibear, could you, like, lend us a hand? Paw? No offense, dawg."

"None taken," Multibear said. He waddled over to the car, inspected it, and muttered a growly consultation with his heads. "I think I can successfully turn the vehicle," he said. "Do I have your permission to try?"

"Go ahead," Pacifica said. "I trust you."

It took a series of maneuvers. Multibear stationed himself in front of the car, lifted the front wheels completely off the ground, and turned them away from the drop by just a little. Then he did the same for the rear. Front ones again. Back ones again. By then he had the car resting about five feet from the edge, and Soos hooked up the winch and dragged it on the ruined tires far enough away from the bluff to work on it safely.

"Thanks, dude," he said. "I'll bring some fish around later."

"No pay is necessary," Multibear said. "This was done in friendship." One of his heads growled. "However," he added, "if some salmon wouldn't be out of the question—"

Soos fired a finger-pistol in a friendly way. "Boom! You got it, dawg. OK, Pacifica, I sprang for four tires, 'cause Mabel told me what had happened, and she knew what the make and model were. This will take a while, but I got the jack and I can put new tires on all around, and Dip and me will fire up the compressor and get them fully inflated. You OK to wait?"

"Sure," Pacifica said. "Hey, do you hear that?"

"A car," Dipper said, looking across the bridge.

" _Now_ somebody comes along!" Pacifica murmured.

Dipper grinned as the forest-green Dodge Dart crossed the bridge and edged over to park on the shoulder. "Wendy!"

"Hiya, guys," Wendy said as she got out. "Soos, Sheila and Stan are covering for us. Mabel said Pacifica's having bad car trouble."

"Oh, girl dawg, look at the tires!"

"Man!" Wendy said, bending over. "Really chewed up! What did this, Pacifica?"

"I don't know! The road was clear, I was coming downhill, and all at once, all the tires just blew!"

"That makes no sense. C'mon, Dip. Soos, you get the lug nuts loosened, and I'll be back to help with the jack in a minute."

Dipper and Wendy backtracked, as Pacifica had done. "Right here's where the skid marks start," Wendy said. "Don't see anything. You take that shoulder, I'll go across."

They went another hundred feet but found nothing suspicious. "Beats me," Wendy said.

"Magic spell," Dipper muttered. "Has to be. We've all got to be more careful."

She put her arm through his.  _Don't get paranoid, Dip. Could be, like, a manufacturing flaw._

— _I don't think so. It feels wrong._

_Well, we'll send the tires to an expert for examination. They'll be able to tell us if there's a natural explanation._

— _Promise me you'll drive extra careful from now on._

_Yeah, I promise, Dip. Make sure Soos knows, too._

With Wendy's help, Soos removed the wheels and the ruined tires, mounted the new ones on the rims, and inflated each one enough to replace the wheel. When they'd done all four, they tightened the lug nuts and inflated the tires to the proper pressure, slinging the ripped-up old ones into the bed of the truck. "Thanks so much, you guys," Pacifica said. "Soos, my dad will reimburse you and pay you for your time."

"He can pay for the tires," Soos agreed. "But this is what I do, girl! When your tires come loose, just send for a Soos! Hah! I did it that time! High five, Dip!"

"Congratulations, man!" Dipper said. "You are the coolest."

"Aw, dawg!"

Wendy chuckled. "Let's get back to the Shack and make sure we're all safe. Hey, Dip, why don't you ride in with Pacifica?"

"Uh—sure?" Dipper said. "Is that OK, Paz?"

She nodded.

"I'll turn the Dart around and take the lead. Pacifica, you follow me, and Soos, you follow Pacifica. We'll go slow, just in case the new tires are faulty, too."

Pacifica got behind the wheel. Almost shyly, she said, "Dipper, you know I'm not supposed to drive with somebody underage for another six months."

"I'll risk it," Dipper replied with a grin.

Very cautiously, Pacifica started the engine and followed Wendy across the bridge. Soos in the truck took the rear.

"Great car," Dipper said.

"Thanks," Pacifica said softly. "This started out as such a nice drive, and then this happened. But—I'm kinda glad it did."

"Because you know you've got friends."

"Because we're riding together," Pacifica said. "Dipper Pines, you stick with Wendy. You don't know what a lucky guy you are."

For a few moments Dipper was quiet. Then he said, "Pacifica Northwest, you're the most beautiful girl in town. And one of the bravest and nicest."

"No, I'm not."

"You are. I know. I remember from the circle. I like you so much as a friend. We'll get through this and I know you're going to find the right guy. It'll happen."

"Well," Pacifica said, "I can hope."

The rest of the ride was uneventful.

* * *

_Eat away like ruin and rust,_

_Take their joy and turn it sour,_

_Destroy their comfort and their trust,_

_Help me bring their darkest hour!_

The last drop of blood fell.

* * *

Brujo turned and walked away from the deserted church.

He knew something wicked had begun to stir.


	8. Fault Lines

**Breaking the Zodiac**

**By William Easley**

**(July 2015)**

* * *

**8: Fault Lines**

**From the Journals of Dipper Pines:** _Friday, July 24: August is only a week off. Mabel's and my birthday is only five weeks away. We still haven't tracked down Brujo. I feel that time is running out. What happens if Mabel and I go home?_

_Well, there'd just be two of us down in Piedmont. No matter how sharp a watch we kept, we'd be running a huge risk, separated from our Gravity Falls people. We'd be easy to pick off._

_Grunkle Ford has been working round the clock to find any newcomer to the Falls who might be our enemy. He's very methodical, but so far, he's found no likely suspects._

_Blubs and Durland have visited Soos about three times since they got back from their vacation. They keep cautioning him about silly things. He needs more lights in the parking lot (but the Shack is never open at night!). Somebody complained that the Shack septic tank is inadequate for the number of visitors (but the Shack is on a sewer line!). They had a report of an injury that went untreated (Gompers had a tussle with a skunk!)._

_Petty stuff, just harassment, but it bothers Soos. He really tries to be the best at what he does, and for someone to imply that he's falling down on the job really bothers him._

_Grunkle Stan and Grunkle Ford haven't had that kind of problem, but Stan got stopped and got the first traffic ticket he's ever received in Gravity Falls for having a burned-out tail light. Except it wasn't. When he took it to the shop, they found that somebody had removed the bulb._

_Odd._

_Ford got a virus in his computer system. Fortunately, his friend the Professor had let an IT guy install a classified-level antivirus program, and that stopped it before anything was compromised. Now, though, Ford completely unplugs all his computers before he stops work for the day._

_Wendy and I had a disagreement? Maybe just a discussion. Not an argument. I found out by our touch telepathy that she and the girls had talked about, well, stuff that they only imagine._ [The entry switches to Dipper's Caesar cipher #12]  _I asked her why they paid attention to fantasies and things like that._

_She seemed surprised. "You must have got it too, dude! I mean, those images came over loud and clear when we were all holding hands."_

" _I didn't," I said._

" _Huh? Pacifica naked on horseback, man? You weren't curious about that? How'd you keep from listening in to it?"_

_I admitted, "I started to get a flicker of it, but I, don't know, shut it out somehow. I didn't want to learn anything about Mabel and Teek that she doesn't want to tell me."_

" _Oh, man!" Wendy said. "You're a guy! I'd think you'd be all over stuff like that."_

" _Maybe you don't know me as well as you think," I said. I didn't mean anything by it, except that I'm uneasy about prying into personal stuff like that. But she thought I was insulting her, or mad at her, and she felt hurt._

_Then I tried to apologize and explain, and as usual, the guy who knows the big words tripped over his own tongue and just made it worse._

_But it ended with us hugging and kissing and exchanging silent reassurances. Once she got my feelings directly instead of my clumsy words, Wendy apologized._

_That made ME feel bad._

" _I didn't mean you were wrong," I said. "You weren't, yeah, guys think about sex all the time, and I guess I'm no exception. But—this, what we're going through right this minute, this misunderstanding, is his doing, isn't it? Brujo? He just keeps trying to pick at us and find ways of making us feel further apart."_

" _Maybe," Wendy said. She was quiet for a long time, and then she said, "Do you suppose this guy can read our minds?"_

" _I don't think so. That's a real high-level magic, and Ford would have detected that. Or if it's not used like a weapon, then it happens when people have a special bond."_

" _Like us."_

" _Like us, Magic Girl," I agreed. We sat on the sofa in the Shack parlor, close together, holding hands. "What I think happens, though, is that Brujo, whoever he is—"_

" _Maybe she," Wendy suggested. "Could be a witch."_

" _Could be," I agreed. "But I don't think so. Ford says that 'Brujo' is Spanish for sorcerer, and it's masculine. If it was a witch, it would be Bruja. I think. Anyhow, what I think happening is that whoever it is just spies on us and tries to learn about us. They want us to be predictable. They want us to think they know our thoughts and plans."_

" _Dude, they're doing a rotten job, then," Wendy said. "Sending Mr. Davies after you, when you and Mabes knew the secret of dealing with zombies."_

" _Which shows us that Brujo is trying too hard," I said. "And that he, they, whoever, must be impatient. If we could go after Brujo, bring the fight to him—"_

" _Or her."_

" _Yeah, or her, or them, I'd feel better. Uh . . . did you . . . you know, you and me in a swimming pool?"_

" _They got it," Wendy said. "Sorry, man."_

" _That's OK. You couldn't help it. And I imagine Mabel's was even more, uh, vivid." Hastily, I added, "I don't want to know!"_

 _We dropped it. And I wound up by telling her—by telepathy—that Jan Maryk had accepted_ It Lurked in the Lake _for publication._

" _Cool!" Wendy said. "She's the editor, right?"_

" _Right," I said. "Only thing, she wants a different title. I asked her what she thought about_ 'Legend of the Wobblegonker,'  _but haven't heard back yet."_

" _Wobblegonker, Gobblewonker," Wendy said. "I get it. When's this one gonna be published?"_

" _Nearly a year from now. June 24. And_ Bride  _will come out in paperback at the same time."_

" _Cool." She kissed me. "I can't wait to see what the cover looks like—Dip!"_

— _What? I asked her, switching to telepathy._

_Dip, don't worry. We're both gonna live to see it published._

— _Didn't mean to let that come through. I can't help thinking about what might happen._

_She pressed her lips against mine and thought to me, Let me take your mind off that for a little while._

_And so . . . she did._

* * *

Stanford, Stanley, and Fiddleford were holed up in Fiddleford's lab, having a council of war. They clustered around a lab table, leaning toward each other. Stan had his big Mystery Shack mug of coffee (maybe with a discreet shot of something other than cream in it) at his elbow, and he kept sipping it, wearing his habitual scowl of doubt.

"I don't reckon we ever run up against a critter like this Brujo before," Fiddleford said, scratching his head. "What does he want from us, anyhow?" His white lab jacket held a pocket full of pens and pencils and one compact slide rule, which he never used but kept as a reminder that he was an engineer as well as a scientist. One of the pens was uncapped and was gradually creating a silhouette map of South America in black ink on the lab coat beneath the pocket.

"I suspect," Ford said, "that he regards us as rivals in magic-using."

"That's nuts," Stan declared. He looked from his brother to Fiddleford and back again. "You and Fiddleford use your cockamamie science stuff, not magic! The only magic I know is turnin' cards and dice into money. And the Shack is stuffed full of magic exhibits, but let's face it, they're all fake. That little Northwest girl don't know from magic, and Dip and Mabel just get pulled into the weirdness here in the Falls now and again. I mean, sure, Dip once raised the dead, but teen kids do that kinda stuff, don't they? The O'Grady boy not only ain't magic, he wasn't even born here! Gideon was a phony psychic, not a real one! The only magic Wendy's got is when she casts a love spell over Dip! Hah! And Soos? Magic? He's barely human!"

"It is obviously a misperception," Ford said. "Although—even you must admit that when we are all ten gathered together, there is a paranormal energy field that unites us. He may be trying to destroy that, or—wait a minute."

They waited more than a minute. Ford stood up and paced, his head down. "He get these spells often?" Stan muttered to Fiddleford.

"Aw, back when we was in college, he useta do that floor-walkin' thing when he was a-workin' on a difficult problem," Fiddleford said. "Jest let him be and sooner or later, he'll holler out 'Eureka!' or some such, and then he'll come up with some bright idee that's shiny as a new-polished banjo."

"You are still a weird little guy," Stan said.

Fiddleford beamed. "Thankee!"

As they waited for Ford's pacing to stop, Stan pointed to some figures standing silently in a nook. "You sure those doohunkeses are gonna work?"

"Never shore about nothin' until I've tried it out," Fiddleford said. "But with all my robomatotics experience, I reckon there's a gooder than better chance they will."

"You got any plans on how to use 'em?"

"Nope!" Fiddleford said with a wide grin. Though he was a lot neater now than he had been in his town-idiot days, with a neatly trimmed beard and dressed in a shirt, tie, open (but increasingly stained) lab jacket, wire-rimmed spectacles, respectable trousers, and soft shoes—like Ulva, the wolf girl, Fiddleford had gone barefoot so long that he had a hard time readjusting to footwear—Fiddleford momentarily resembled the memory-wiped loon that he'd been for close to thirty years.

"Oy!" Stan said, remembering that once he had called the people of Gravity Falls Valley literally the dumbest humans on Earth. He had yet to revise that opinion.

"I think I have it," Ford said, coming back to sit at the lab table with the other two.

Stan took a swig of coffee. "Then say 'Eureka.'"

Ford looked blankly at his brother. "Why should I say that?"

"'Cause you're a fancy-schmancy scientist! You'll lose your license if ya don't!"

"Stanley, there's no institution that issues a license to practice science—"

"Sheesh! Go to the junior college and sign up for a course in understanding humor!"

"Now, now, boys, I want to hear this idee," Fiddleford said.

Turning to him, Ford said, "Not an idea, so much, as perhaps a concept. Or you might call it a possible ontological point of view—"

"Can it, Brainiac!" Stan erupted. "Just tell us, already!"

Ford blinked. "Perhaps that would be best."

Stan glowered. "Ya think?"

"Simmer down," Fiddleford said. "Go ahead, Ford."

Stanford tented his twelve fingers. "To begin with, let me define the concept of  _mana._ "

Stanley got up. "You do that while I go take a leak. I'll be back for the interesting part."

When he did return, Stanford was winding up, or maybe winding down: ". . . so, in short, the term  _mana,_ common to Austronesian languages, encapsulates the notions of power, prestige, force—but in a supernatural sense. Mana, we could say, is the raw stuff, or perhaps more accurately the fuel, of magic."

"Cut to the chase," Stanley suggested.

Ford frowned. "Brujo may be a kind of magic vampire. Except instead of subsisting on blood, he may be bent on absorbing power from us all."

"Yeah, he's bent all right," Stan agreed, regretfully noticing that he'd emptied his coffee mug. "Ya mean he wants to suck out whatever energy it was that coulda defeated Cipher if one of us, I won't say  _who_ , hadn't been such an a-hole?"

"Precisely," Ford said. "However, since we committed to the Zodiac—even you, Stanley—that mana, that potential energy is inextricably interwoven with our life forces. Should Brujo succeed in draining the magical power, he would necessarily kill us—perhaps. Or render us insane, or debased, or otherwise incapable of opposing him."

"Yeah, he's bent," Stan said. "So—if this is true, what does it mean for how we plan to attack him?"

"I'll need to think about that," Ford said.

"Sheesh!" Stan said. "I'm sorry I asked!"

* * *

"I'm going to be leaving in a month," Jude reminded Pacifica. They had parked at Lookout Point—her Miagi was only one of half a dozen cars containing teens parked there under the stars.

"I know," Pacifica said unhappily. She sat behind the wheel, having already vetoed Jude's suggestion that the back seat might be more comfortable. "But it's still no."

"OK," Jude said, leaning away from her. "I just thought you liked me." His voice held a note of reproach.

"I do," Pacifica told him. "But we can't, you know. I'm truly sorry. There are reasons I can't even tell you. Look, we can do other stuff. I can, you know, help you out." She reached over and demonstrated.

"That . . . that's nice," he admitted.

"Then relax," she said. "Put yourself in my hands."

* * *

Mabel and Teek happened to be parked three cars away from Pacifica and Jude. "C'mon," Mabel encouraged. "You have to do this for me!"

"I just don't think I can!" Teek replied. They were cuddling in the back seat of his car—cuddling fully dressed but cuddling none the less.

"Aw," Mabel prodded. "It'd be so nice if you did."

"Mabel," Teek said, "Look, face it. I'm not the most popular guy in school! I don't have many guy friends, and the ones I know are, well, kinda geeky."

"How many girl friends?" Mabel asked.

"You're it," he said, smiling. "You know that. I'm just saying I don't know many guys who I could talk to about that."

"But Traci's a nice girl," Mabel wheedled. "There must be somebody she can just, you know, go out with casually. Just some guy she can hang with a little and get to know people with."

"I'll try to think of somebody," Teek said.

"That's my guy," Mabel murmured. "Kiss me."

They kissed, and Teek pulled away. "Peppermint-flavored toothpaste?"

"Nope. Peppermint candy!" Mabel said, clicking it against her teeth. "You like?"

"Uh—no, I don't like peppermint."

Mabel turned her head and with a juicy  _thwooop_! spat the peppermint out the window. It clicked on the pavement somewhere out in the night. "Poop! Wen—I mean, I know a couple that use that as their kissy-kissy trick, and _they_  like it."

"Sorry. I just never liked peppermint," Teek said.

"OK, I won't do that anymore. Uh—just out of curiosity, what flavor do you like best?"

Teek tightened his hug. "Mm. Well, my very favorite is the taste of Mabel," Teek said.

"Ooh," Mabel cooed. "Good answer!"


	9. Storm Clouds

**Breaking the Zodiac**

**William Easley**

**(August 2015)**

* * *

**9: Storm Clouds**

Wendy and Grenda went to visit the unicorns. The magical creatures welcomed them—cautiously. Like other supernatural denizens of the valley, they owed their survival to the Pines family—without them, Bill Cipher would have made unicorns as extinct as the dodo. For some reason, he thought they were too pointy.

"Look," Wendy said, "I'm gonna be upfront with you guys. We need some unicorn hair."

"Chop-chop!" Grenda added, smiling in a disturbing sort of way.

"Uh—sure," Palaminosteverino said, his voice nervous. "Uh, how much would that be? We've got lots."

They collected a healthy bagful. "Tell Celestabellebethabelle we said thanks," Wendy said, shouldering the bag.

"Uh, most of that is hers," Palaminosteverino said.

"Oh," said Grenda. "She donated it, huh?"

"Yeah, that's the ticket. Donated it!"

"Word to the wise," Wendy said. "Mr. Pines wants all the magical creatures to know there's something bad in the Valley. You guys watch your, uh, haunches, I guess, and be sure to get word to us if you catch wind of anything foul. And spread the word!"

"Thanks, good to have you visit, bye-bye now," the pale unicorn said. He turned and galloped into a thicket.

"Better than fighting them for it," Wendy said.

"Not as much fun, though," Grenda added. They walked out of the mystic Celtic circle, which vanished behind them except for a sign, decorated with painted butterflies and fairies and rainbows, that read CLOSED FOR RENOVATIONS.

Off in the thicket, Celestabellebethabelle asked timidly, "Are they gone?"

Roan—very odd name for a unicorn—said, "Yeah, girl, they've gone."

"Do I look horrid?"

"Naw," Roan said. "Close clips are in this season. Besides, it'll grow out again!"

"Well," Celestabethabelle murmured, "that's the mane thing."

* * *

Ford had enough moonstones left, too. A magic circle has some strange properties. Chief among them is that it protects against malign magic, alien invaders, dimensional intruders, and people who want to give you pamphlets about why everything you believe is wrong. It does let Girl Scouts through, though, and well-meaning folk.

However, another feature of a magic circle is that it can be any size—a compact one only a few feet across, or—if you have enough unicorn hair—a huge one that could encompass a football stadium or the McGucket Mansion.

The Shack was already well-protected. As Ford explained, "Even if our enemy sneaked in—"

"Snuck," Stan corrected.

"Yes, thank you, Stanley, snuck in, the field would damp any magical attack he might launch. We'd still feel some effect, but the impact would be reduced."

"Uh-huh." Stan looked into the gunny sack, still half-full of iridescent unicorn hair. "Why not just surround the whole town? You got nearly enough hair!"

"I'd thought about that," Stanford admitted. "However, since Brujo seems fixated on those of us who are on the Zodiac, I think a better plan is to protect our domiciles. And perhaps prepare a surprise or two—places of refuge in case we're really up against it."

"I see. So, you're gonna do unicorn voodoo on the Northwest farmhouse—"

"Already done," Ford said.

"Oh, I didn't know. And Gideon's house, and the O'Grady boy's—"

"Finished both this morning. And the Corduroy house, too."

"Huh. So that's it, right? All ten of us?"

"Our homes," Stanford acknowledged. "Now I want you to help me think up some sneaky places we could protect that wouldn't be obvious. I'm sure if Brujo detects the magical fields around our living spaces, his next move will be to try to catch us outside those areas. I want to be able to surprise him if he tries anything drastic."

"Sneaky, huh?" Stanley asked, rubbing his hands. "You came to the right guy!"

Stanford smiled. "I had a feeling I could count on you."

* * *

"Aww," Mabel complained. "I missed a chance to kick unicorn butt?"

"And me as well!" Candy complained. "Though I would not lick a unicorn neck again. False stories of lore deceived me! Unicorn necks are not magical flavor!"

"What did it taste like?" Grenda asked.

"Strawberry-flavored horse."

"We don't wanna know the details," Wendy told her. "Meh, there was nothin' to it this time, Mabes. We just went in and asked nicely, and they brought us, like, a bushel of hair."

"But what's Great-Uncle Ford doing with it?" Dipper asked.

"Something oogie-boogie," Grenda told him.

"Last time, we had to beat up on them to get the hair," Mabel told Dipper. "Confidentially, that shiny stuff we all had splashed on it wasn't actually unicorn tears!"

"You should have seen your girlfriend fighting," Candy told Dipper. "Wendy is one very bad ass!"

"Oh, I don't know about that—" Dipper began. "Oof!"

"Apology accepted," Wendy said, shaking her hand. "Your shoulder's awfully hard, Dip!"

"Tell me next time," Dipper said, rubbing it, "and I'll turn so you can hit my stomach instead."

"Love taps! Love taps!" Grenda chanted.

* * *

Dipper had to admit that he could be a little paranoid. In fact, he often had admitted that.

And it certainly was possible that the small things that kept happening were mere accidents. Maybe Pacifica's tires had been defective, which caused all four to blow out at once.

And though Waddles and Widdles never saw other pigs, it is possible that their sudden rashes came from a wild animal. Sarcoptic mange, the vet said, and Mabel had to give them medicine in their feed and spray more on their skins. Worst of all, until the lesions cleared up, the vet absolutely forbade Mabel from petting them.

Though Soos conscientiously checked out the tram every week, sometimes things just wear out. The day that he had to lead a grumbling crew of tourists on a mile-and-a-half walk back from the far end of the Mystery Tour, though, he certainly felt as if somebody had cursed the engine, making it seize up at the worst possible moment.

Pacifica's pony Desperado went lame, and the same vet prescribed at least six weeks of rest. Pacifica spent long hours visiting the pony in the stable, keeping him calm, and irritating Jude, who saw less of Pacifica than he'd like. They had a couple of disagreements.

And so on. Stan and Sheila got slapped with a tax audit. Stan fumed about that, although Sheila assured him, "We've paid our taxes, Stanny. They can't find anything wrong."

Stan, who had never told anyone but Ford the whole story of certain valuable items he was holding onto, just grunted and hoped she was right.

They all tried to maintain a semblance of normality, though. Mabel, Teek, Dipper, and Wendy went on a picnic trip once to Glacier Ridge, where Mabel persuaded Dipper to play his guitar and sing. He tried to keep it a singalong, with songs they all knew (and ones he could play, of course), but Mabel egged him on until he played a song he'd written just for Wendy:

* * *

When I wasn't very old, I felt the world was cold,

I'd never had a lover or a friend.

I was in nobody's heart, I always stood apart,

Always on the outside, looking in.

I was always standing on the outside,

Yearning to be in someone's arms,

Life was shaping up to be a cold ride,

Never finding anywhere that's warm.

Then I was growing up and I felt that I'd found love,

I confessed I felt it way down in my soul,

Oh, you were kind to me, you said just let it be,

"Boy, you're just too young and I'm too old."

And I was always standing on the outside,

Yearning to be in my darling's arms,

Life was shaping up to be a cold ride,

Never finding anywhere that's warm.

And on a warm fall day, when I had to go away,

You said, "Boy, you mean a lot to me."

You handed me a note, and I read the words you wrote,

"Come back next summer and we'll see."

I was always standing on the outside,

Yearning to be in someone's arms,

Life was shaping up to be a cold ride,

Never finding anywhere that's warm.

When I returned, I'd missed you, and first thing I knew I kissed you,

And your smile made a snug, bright fire begin—

For the first time I felt warm when you opened up your arms,

You opened up your heart and let me in.

And here we are both standing on the inside,

Now we have each other's hearts to hold,

Someday soon I'll see you when you're my bride,

And never again will you or I feel cold.

* * *

When he finished with some grace cords, Dipper felt the campfire hot on his face. "Well," he muttered, "That's it. I know, it's corny, yeah." He sighed. "My country-Western failed experiment. I'm working on it. It's not any good yet, I know."

"It's OK. Sort of a John Denver sound," Teek said.

"I think it's more like that ancient group Dad likes," Mabel added. "The Seekers. Or is it the Suckers? I never can remember."

" _I_ think it's sweet," Wendy said.

"Yeah," Mabel chuckled. "You sort of  _have_  to!"

"Next," Dipper said, "here's a little thing I wrote called 'My Sister Ate the Paper off the Wall!"

Mabel nudged Teek. "Ooh! You know  _this_ one's gonna be good!"

* * *

In the hut in the woods, Brujo prepared. He did not know everything about each member of the Zodiac, but he knew—enough.

Blood magic was his specialty, but he wasn't proud. He would work with other kinds. He had already decided that, as long as the Zodiac Ten were all alive and feeling a bond each to each, his mental assaults would not work—not worth the blood it would cost to launch them.

He would not be able to control their minds, the way he had so often done with those who had served him.

However, he was brewing some potions—deadly, their ingredients magical and varied. Ten potions in all, each a little different from all the others.

Poisons? No. These were for him to drink, not for his victims. If he brewed carefully and took all the time he needed, each one would give him the power for a single deadly spell. Ten spells. Ten targets.

If, for example, he caught Soos alone, he could launch the spell—the Lance of Death, the old books called it—and it would bring down the big young man, and the doctors would call it a heart attack.

He could similarly attack any of the others. If a spell failed, it was gone for good—it was a peculiar limitation, but a magician could drink each individualized potion only once for the power. Twice would kill the sorcerer.

Oh, he did not intend to kill all the Zodiac, far from it. He needed at least eight alive. They would be the ones whose power he would sap and absorb. They did not need to die. By the time he finished with them, they would be pathetic, gibbering idiots. They would be worse than the most helpless addict.

He could let them go free and then laugh at them. It would be a charity to kill them in that condition.

He spat on the very idea of charity.

Brujo had nearly recovered his strength. The abortive attempt with the zombie had taken a lot from him. However, he had recouped. Soon it would come, the day when he would move against the Ten, striking at the ones who thought themselves most secure.

It would be better to pick off the weakest. That had not changed.

The zombie had not been able to kill one of the teens.

The Lance of Death would be different.

On the day that Brujo drank the ten potions, a summer storm hit Gravity Falls.

That was not a coincidence.

* * *

"Dudes, stay away from the windows!" Soos cautioned. The Ramirezes, Wendy, Sheila, and Stan clustered in the windowless parlor, with Mabel, Teek, and Dipper joining them.

"This aint' natural," Stanley growled.

He had seen the storm suddenly rear itself over the southwest rim of the Valley, a boiling, black cloud walking on spider-legs of lighting. The bolts, vivid red and brilliant blue, struck down among the trees. Once across the bluffs, the storm marched on, howling weirdly.

Stan called Ford, who yelled, "We know—it'll hit us before it reaches you! Shelter in place!"

They hunkered down. They could hear the thunder, the booming of the devil's own bass drum. Through the archway they could see flashes of light.

"Whoa!" Wendy said. "Is that an earthquake?"

Dipper took her hand. "I think it's just real loud lightning."

Soos had ventured to a place where he could peer out a window. "Whoa-ho, guys! I was wrong. Come and look at this! It's totally bizzaro, dawgs!"

They made their way to the windows. It was a peculiar storm—no wind at all, just the incessant streaking bolts of lightning.

Dipper saw now that the storm had come close. Bolt after bolt sizzled down from the roiling, fiery cloud, struck—not the Shack, but the protective field—and did no damage. The storm stalked on, in the direction of Wendy's house.

Wendy called her dad, but he and the boys were off fishing and not even in the Corduroy house—not even in the Valley, come to that—and he said he hadn't heard any thunder.

Stan's phone rang. "Yah?" He listened. "Nah, nobody's hurt. That crazy unicorn-magic shield thing absorbed the electricity. Sure, I'm sure! I saw it, Poindexter, that's why!"

Then he listened.

"OK," Stan said. "I'll tell everybody."

He put away his phone. "Here's the skinny," he said. "My Brainiac brother says this was no ordinary storm. Well, duh, right? It passed over the McGucket house, same thing that happened here, the protection spell drew all the lightning. Corduroy house should be OK, but Mabel, you better call Pacifica and tell her to stand by for rough weather."

"Anything I can do?" Dipper asked.

"Yeah, kid," Stan said. "Get ready for bad times. Ford thinks this is the beginning of the attack."


	10. Where It Hurts

**Breaking the Zodiac**

**By William Easley**

**(August 2015)**

* * *

**10: Where It Hurts**

On August 8, Stan's El Diablo roared up the McGucket driveway, slewed to a tire-smoking stop, and came to rest near the side portico. Stan jumped out, rushed inside, and yelled at the chairmobot, "Hey, Annie, where's my brother?"

The Queen Anne guard chair responded, "Dr. Pines is currently at the Mystery Shack, Mr. Pines."

"Yah, he would be, just when I need him." Stan grabbed his phone and punched in Ford's number. "Come on, come on, pick up!"

Then Stanford's voice: "Stanley! I was just about to—"

"Don't do it, whatever it was. We gotta talk now. Face to face. Don't set foot outa the unicorn-voodoo zone, whatever you do! I'll be there in five minutes!"

And though it was four miles, Stanley made it in just over seven minutes. He dashed in through the gift shop—Wendy, surprised, said, "Hi, Stan, what—"

"No time!" he snapped. He spun around as he reached the soda machine. "Wendy! Sorry! Are the kids inside?"

"I'm right here, Grunkle Stan!" Mabel said from the snack-bar cash register.

"I'm over here," Dipper called from the gift-shop register.

"Don't go nowhere!"

Heedless of the customers—though he shielded the number pad with his body—Stan punched in the code, ducked inside the secret passage, closed the secret door, and ran down the secret stairs two at a time.

Ford was on the second level. He stood up from his chair. "Stanley! What's wrong?"

"Plenty, Poindexter!" Stan fumbled inside his jacket, then pulled something that might have been, but wasn't, an over-large cell phone. "This whackamadoodle started buzzin' me as I came out of the Skull Fracture. You said if it went off, we were in danger. So—here it is! What's up?"

"Let me download the codes." Stanford took the gizmo from his brother and docked it at a computer. A couple of mouse clicks later, the screen lit up and data rained down, much as it had done in a certain kung-fu sci-fi spectacular movie, but without Keanu Reeves appearing.

"Somebody swept you with a magical probe," Stanford muttered, though his tense tone betrayed his excitement.

"Uh! I been  _probed_?" Stanley yelled. "Ain't anything private anymore? Tell me who did it, and I'll show  _him_ some probin'!"

"Curious," Stanford said. "This is the magical equivalent of a neurological scan."

"They're readin' my mind?" Stan asked.

"Not . . . exactly," Stanford said. "More like building up a psychic profile of your brain."

"That's illegal, profiling!" Stanley yelled. I want the ACLU in on this! The DAR! The YMCA! The YMHA! The B&O!"

"Uh—I think that last one was a railroad."

"So run him over with a locomotive! Teach the  _crepe de chine_  a lesson! 'Scuse my French!"

"I don't think that was actual French," Stanford said. "But listen for just a minute, will you?"

"I feel so violated!"

"As well you should." Ford frowned. "The only thing I can think of is what I already feared. Our enemy is preparing directed magical attacks. He must be trying to get readings on each of us—and then he'll plan a specific magical spell to take care of us one by one. Perhaps, I don't know, breaking our wills? Controlling our actions and even our thoughts?"

"Dirty pool!" Stan proclaimed. He got up, went to one concrete wall, and punched it.

"Don't break your hand," Stanford warned.

"Ha! I didn't even feel that. Too mad! Ouch!" Shaking his hand, Stanley said, "All right, you're the whiz-kid. What do we do to protect ourselves?"

"Well, I installed a metal plate in my head—"

"Correction," Stanley said. "What not-cockamamie thing can we do to protect ourselves?"

"Non-invasive, you mean," Stanford said in a thoughtful voice. "Hmm. To begin with, I am ninety per cent certain that as long as we are within the protective radius of the Dome of Security—"

"What with the which now? English, Ford! Sheesh! I don't speak eggheadish!"

With a sigh, Stanford reached for a pad and pen and sketched in a hemispherical dome. "Look. This is the Shack." He indicated with a few pen-strokes a structure inside the dome. The drawing held the simplicity of a Tōyō brush-and-ink sketch.

Stanley, looking over his shoulder, said, "Ya forgot the sign."

"Don't worry about that," Stanford said. He added a single brush stroke. "Now, this is you, standing inside the protective area of the unicorn-and-moonstone spell—"

"Ya made my nose look too big."

"Yes, sorry about that. Dammit, Stan, I'm a scientist, not an artist!" Stanford waited for a reaction he did not get. "Anyway, if you're inside the protective area, this one or any of the others we've set up, I'm ninety per cent sure that an evil spell wouldn't harm you."

"Ninety per cent? That the best you can do?"

No, I can make a more accurate calculation. It's, let me see, square root of . . . carry the one . . . closer to 91.28%."

"I'd like better odds."

"But no metal plate."

"No metal plate. Look, this is if Bluto—"

"Brujo," Stanford murmured.

"Him, too—the magician guy, anywho—is standin' outside the protective area and I'm inside, am I right?"

"No, no, you're misconstruing the nature of the protection," Stanford said. "Look, think of it like this: You know that a bullet rapidly loses impetus if it's fired into water, right?"

"Yeah, I watched that episode of _Talebusters_. They shot a .357 magnum slug into a swimmin' pool with underwater cameras, and even a fifty-caliber bullet went nowhere. Maybe six feet, and it sunk."

"Then think of the air inside the dome as an analogue to water. And the spell the magician casts is like the bullet. Very well. As the water weakens the impetus of the bullet, so the protection inside the dome vitiates the energy of the magical spell—"

"Ya lost me."

Grunting, Ford said, "The dome louses up the magic, right? It doesn't matter whether the magician is inside or outside of the area, his spells fizzle out without hurting anybody."

"Ya know, you sounded like Dad there for a second."

"Yeesh!"

Stan shook his head. "Ford, we gotta do better. Us and the kids and everybody can't be life prisoners inside the protected places. We got lives to live. Think of something else."

"Fiddleford and I have been trying," Ford said. "We've already—"

Something started to beep, and Stanford turned to his computer and rapidly typed in a code. "You're not the only one," he said. "This alert tells me that someone else is being magically scanned right this second."

"Who?" Stan asked.

"According to the code number . . . Pacifica Northwest."

* * *

Pacifica's phone chimed, and she turned on her Bluetooth receiver. "Hello, this is Pacifica, I'm driving, keep it short."

"Miss Northwest. You're in danger."

"What? Who—Dr. Pines? What danger?"

"It's too complex to explain. Are you close to the Mystery Shack?"

"Well, yeah, real close, just driving into town to—"

"Come to the Mystery Shack instead, now. Be sure you park on the side of the lot closest to the house, and if there are no space, drive onto the grass close to the side opposite the Museum entrance. Stanley or I will explain."

"O—OK," Pacifica said. The Mystery Shack sign and the driveway lay just ahead, on the left. She signaled and made the turn.

And though she didn't see him, Brujo, concealed by undergrowth where he lay in ambush, cursed. She had been so nearly within range.

* * *

Stanley gathered Wendy, Mabel, Dipper, Teek, and Soos in the parlor. "OK," he said. "Listen up, knuckleheads. Ford thinks the wooby-wooby guy, Pluto—no, that ain't the name, starts with a B—"

"Brujo," Dipper said.

Stan aimed a finger at him. "Bingo!"

"No, Brujo," Soos said.

"Yeah, him too," Stan growled. "Listen up, he's close right now, and he's been like probin' us. Ford thinks he's plannin' to zap us with some magic spell—he's like whompin' up one spell for each one of us. Like a bullet with your name on it."

"Do they make those?" Mabel asked. "For real? I'd like a dozen! They'd make a great necklace!"

"That just means he's aimin' at somebody specific," Stan said. "Like a sniper who knows the victims, OK? But we should be all right if we stay inside the Shack. McGucket's comin' over, and Poindexter called Pacifica, so she should be here in a few—"

"She's here now." Pacifica, dressed informally but elegantly, came in from the hall. "Hi, everybody. What's up?"

"We're under house arrest!" Mabel said dramatically. "The bad guy's out there somewhere!"

"Please," Stanley said. "So Fiddleford will pick up Gideon, and we'll stay here until we're sure it's safe to go out again."

"I have a date!" Pacifica objected.

"Tell him to come here," Stan countered. "And bring money! We ain't runnin' a charity, this is a business."

Dipper took his personal detector from his pocket. "Did these things go off?" he asked.

"Mine did, and Pacifica's did. Don't know about the others. The bad guy can't probe us in here—"

"Probe?" Mabel asked. "Did you say probe?"

"Not literally! Sheesh!"

"Mr. Pines," Soos said, "I, like, got to do the Mystery Tour in like fifteen minutes. I'll have to go outside."

"Cancel it!" Stan said.

"But people have already, like, bought tickets and junk!" Soos objected. "I'll have to refund their money."

Stan grimaced, his teeth clenched. He made little high-pitched sounds, like a tea kettle just before it breaks into a full boil. "OK, OK, let me think. Poindexter is kinda immune, 'cause he's got a metal plate in his head. Maybe he can—"

"No!" they all chorused.

Dipper said, "No offense, Grunkle Stan, and I love Stanford like an uncle, but think of the kind of spiel he'd come up with."

Mabel did her impression: "Do you see all these trees? Ten thousand years ago, none of them were here! Fascinating! Oh, there on the left you see a  _fuzzybuttus hippityhoppus_ , or American bunny. They are famous for timidity, great breeding capacity, and having a natural aptitude for police work."

"You're right," Stan groaned. "OK, Soos, there's no help for it. Re—refu—give back—I can't say it!"

"Ooh!" Soos said. "I got like a brainwave storm, dawgs! Wait a second." He hurried out, in the direction of the kitchen. They heard him rummaging for a minute, and then he came back. "Check it out! I magic-proofed my brain!"

"Very stylish!" Mabel said, admiring his tinfoil hat.

"I'm not sure that would help," Dipper told her.

"Actually," Stanford said from the doorway, "It just might! Soos, how long is the tour?"

"Um, twenty minutes, Dr. Stanford, dawg, unless we do the Gnome trail, too, but the Gnomes aren't that much of a draw any more, so I generally end it at—"

"Twenty minutes out, how many back in?"

"Um, like twelve, if we stop at the Falls View place so's they can take pictures of the waterfall and all. If we come straight back, maybe six, seven, tops."

"Come straight back," Ford advised.

"You got it, Mr. Dr. Pines!"

* * *

Fiddleford drove up a few minutes later. To Gideon, he said, "You mosey on inside now, an' let the others know we've arrivified. I got some gear to take out of the back seat."

"All right," Gideon said, looking strained and worried. "But I still think we should've brought Ulva with us. She's right nervous when I'm not around."

"Aw, she'll be fine as a fiddler's fork," Fiddleford told him. "Scat now, 'cause you're a likely target."

Gideon didn't protest but hurried across the lawn and into the Shack in a semi-crouch.

McGucket opened the back of his van. "Let's git you outa there," he said.

He hadn't noticed, but Waddles, Mabel's first pig, came snuffling around from behind the Shack and made his way along the edge of the parking lot, grunting and nosing for any dropped goodies. Tourists were notoriously bad at tossing half-eaten snacks, and Waddles was notoriously good at finding them.

Brujo saw the pig and shot a spell at him. Nothing happened.

Cursing, Brujo noted that the protective spell now took in at least most of the parking lot.

The pig meandered and reached the edge of the lot closest to the magician. He tried a second spell, and the pig squealed in obvious agony and fell to his side, little legs kicking.

"No! Waddles!"

Brujo grinned. What luck.

The brown-haired girl, the Shooting star ran across the lot, dodging the parked cars. "Waddles!"

Ah, and behind her Pine Tree. The man behind them yelled, "Kids! No!"

But the girl threw herself onto the struggling pig. Wait for it, wait for it, two for one—

The boy reached her, grabbed her arm, and tried to drag her back to the house.

Brujo moved from his hiding place in the brush. The boy saw him and threw himself in front of the girl, trying to protect her.

But this far from the Shack, they had no protection.

At point-blank range, Brujo shot the killing spells, and blood leaked from his nose.


	11. It Gets Real

**Breaking the Zodiac**

**By William Easley**

**(August 2015)**

* * *

**11: It Gets Real**

The group in the parlor sat stunned. Fiddleford mourned, "They was so young."

Pacifica shivered, and Stan hugged her the same way he would Mabel. "I'm so scared!" she moaned. "He'd do that to kids?"

"We have to hold it together," Stanford said. "After it happened, Stanley and I went out armed, but he'd already made it down the hill to his car and drove away. We did find some of his blood."

"I want the rest of it!" Stan growled. "All of it!"

"I know this is hard," Stanford said. "It's a shock to see what our enemy is capable of doing.

"Why didn't he just kill the pig?" Soos asked. "No offense, dudes. But Waddles seems, like, OK again."

"It was obviously a blow meant to lure the most vulnerable of our group beyond the protected area," Stanford said heavily. "Hurting Waddles was one way of making sure that Mabel would run out—"

Teek finished bitterly, "And that made sure that Dipper would follow." He sighed. "I wish they were here."

"Better to leave them up in the attic for the moment," Stanford said.

"We gonna have t' bury the bodies," Fiddleford muttered. He took off his glasses and mopped his streaming eyes with a handkerchief.

"News of what happened must not leave this house," Stanford warned. "He thinks he's struck a lethal blow at all of us. If we don't do anything in public to indicate a loss, we just may keep him uncertain."

"What good will that do?" Gideon asked. "He's just gonna wait until he can pick us all off, one by one!"

"No, his goal goes beyond murder," Stanford said. "This is my doing. You can all blame me. When Bill Cipher threatened the town, I was the one who came up with the Zodiac plan. When you all took your places on the diagram—except you, Teek—you marked yourselves. When we joined hands, back then and more recently, we shared the power that you all felt. That's what Brujo wants—and he can't extract power from dead bodies. He wants to capture us or corrupt us and enslave us. He's hungry for  _mana,_ for magical potential. I don't know how he'll do it—some kind of spell, obviously—but he'll take that power from us if he can, and it will break us. Reduce us to insanity or worse. And worst of all—"

"There's somethin' worse comin'?" Stanly said. "How could it be?"

"It can be the worst, Stanley, because if Brujo succeeds, he'll become eight times more powerful than he is now. And he's already the strongest blood magician I've ever heard of."

"So, what's he want to do?" Stan asked. "Rule the freakin' world?"

"At least to have unlimited power. Virtually unlimited," Stanford replied. "I can't tell you if he wants to set himself up as an emperor or king, or just to operate in the shadows, taking what and whom he wants. Either way, it's a great evil. Blood magicians always are evil, though."

"Blood magicians?" Wendy asked. She had been sitting silently, a whetstone out, putting an extra-keen edge on her axe. Though her face was so pale that the freckles stood out in sharp relief, her tone was cold as ice, deadly as a neck-severing blow. "What does that mean?"

"Oh, yes," Stanford said. "I haven't explained that, have I. As I said, we found some of Brujo's blood just across the driveway from the parking lot. That's where he must have stood. Dark magic exacts a price in life force. A blood magician pays with blood—other people's will work, but weakly. The magician must give his or her own blood to make the most powerful spells work. Brujo either cut himself or bled spontaneously at the moment he launched the killing spells."

"The good thing is he can't do another one right way, right?" Stan asked.

"That's my surmise. Such strong magic weakens him. It's like donating a unit of blood—it takes four weeks for a person to regenerate plasma and blood cells afterward. Brujo didn't lose a whole pint, though, as near as I can tell. But we should have a week before he could unleash another killing spell. Unless—" he shrugged.

"Unless what?" Wendy asked. "Let us know, 'cause I'm gonna show him what blood loss is if I get a whack at him!"

"Unless he can catch us all together," Stanford said. "The  _mana_ he could absorb would offset at least half of the blood loss he would have to spend. I think if he could find us all as a group in an unprotected area, he'd risk the shot."

"Yeah, but one of us would get him," Stanley said. "While he was busy with the other seven, one of us would get him at last."

"We can't count on that," Stanford replied. "He's a lot more powerful than I judged at first. He's been building his strength over a lifetime."

"Yeah, well, we can fix that," Stanley said.

"First," Fiddleford said tentatively, "maybe we could—take care of—" he sobbed.

"We can, like, bury them behind the Shack," Soos said quietly.

"That might be best," Stanford said. "Inside the zone of protection. That would mean that he couldn't . . . retrieve the bodies."

"No!" Pacifica wailed. "Why would he want to do that?"

"He can create zombies," Stanford said. "A special type—a puppet, in essence. Brujo can take over their dead brains and make them seem to live again. You've seen direct evidence of that, Pacifica."

Her horror showed on her face. "You mean—he might reanimate Dipper and Mabel? Pretend to be them, so he could—"

"Get close to us, yes."

"But they was so tore up," Fiddleford groaned. "One look at 'em, and he'd—"

"I don't think any amount of injury would stop him," Stanford said. "I'm virtually certain that he reanimated Susan Flowers, and she had been wasted by disease. The zombie you saw had been mangled by a spell, and yet it moved, and he controlled it. We're safe inside the protected zone, and so the graves will be. But remember—not a word of this. No sign to anyone of what has happened. We have to keep Brujo wondering."

"Yeah," Stan said. "Until we can smash him like a bug."

Stanford took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. "This goes against my every instinct," he muttered. "As Dipper learned so often, sometimes those we fear are merely misunderstood. Sometimes they can be, let's say, redeemed and we can co-exist with them." He replaced his glasses. His eyes shone with tears and with determination. "Not this time."

Soos said, "Yeah, Dr. Mr. Pines. I know. It's time to throw down. It's, like, him or us, dawgs. We can't be, like, sentimental over him. He's gotta go down."

"Like Bill," Gideon said. "I let Bill fool me once. Shame on him. This here Brujo thinks he can fool us? Shame on us if we let him! It's got real now. We can't show him the least little bit of mercy!"

"Agreed," Teek said. "I don't care how smart he is, or how powerful. We have to face him."

"Then," Stanford said, "we have to plan. We must make sure that we're fully prepared, and we must know what dangers we face. I'll do what I can to create protection, such as might help—though nothing might be fully effective."

"Soos," Stanley said, "we're gonna have to hole up here. That means—"

"Way ahead of you, Mr. Pines," Soos said. "As of tomorrow, the Shack is gonna be closed temporarily for renovations. While we got, like, a little time of safety, while this Brujo dude is building up his blood or whatever, I'm gonna send Melody and the kids and Abuelita down to Mexico. My aunts have been wanting to see them. And they should be, like, safe there, right?"

"I don't think Brujo has focused on them," Stanford said. "Yes, get them out tomorrow. If they stay—well, anyone we love might be a target of Brujo."

"Tate will come and stay with Mayellen," Fiddleford said. "The mansion's protectified, just like the Shack is, and it's got gobdoodles of frozen food and stuff, so they won't have to go out to stock up on groceries."

"Yeah, and Sheila and Lorena will stay with 'em," Stanley said. "Ford, you got them disintegrators you can lend 'em?"

"I'll give each of them a disruptor pistol," Stanford said. "Tate, too."

"And I'll send over a program for my robomoguards," Fiddleford said. "'Course, he could magicafy them, but I don't think he could hardly take 'em over."

"No," Stanford agreed. "Blood calls to blood. An automaton has none. Brujo might be able to destroy them, but he couldn't possess them."

"All right," Stanley said. "Let's get movin'! Wendy, I'm gonna call your dad and tell him to lay low with your bothers in your house. I don't s'pose you want to—"

"I'm stayin' right here," Wendy said, running a thumb over the new-honed edge of her axe. "You know you can't talk me out of it."

"Yeah," Stan grinned. "That's our bad-ass girl."

"Very well," Stanford said. "We know what we have to do. Now we must come up with a plan to accomplish that. Let's get started."

"We'll start," Fiddleford said heavily, "with the buryin'."


	12. Among Ourselves

**Breaking the Zodiac**

**By William Easley**

**(August 2015)**

* * *

**12: Among Ourselves**

Soos, Teek, and Stan did most of the digging, though at the end Ford helped. When the grave was deep enough, Fiddleford and Gideon gave them a hand out. Wiping his face with a bandana, Stan asked, "Did ya make the call, Ford?"

"I did, before all this happened," Ford said, wiping his own hands on a towel that Wendy had given him. "The Agency is going to help. I hate involving them—because now I owe them another debt, and though I trust the Professor—" he shrugged.

"Wait, so what's up with that?" Soos asked.

"We talked it over," Stan said. "Me and Ford think it would be best if we evacuated the Valley. Not us, I mean, obviously we Zodiacs gotta stay, but everybody else."

"The whole town? That's sort of drastic," Teek said.

"Wait, won't the protection spells keep us and our families safe?" Pacifica asked. "I mean, if we stay home? I mean, if the servants stay home? Mom and Dad are away again, anyhow."

"Yes, I think so," Ford told her. "However, we've already seen that Brujo is utterly ruthless. He wouldn't hesitate to murder all of our friends in the Valley if he thought that was the only way to get to us."

"So," Soos said slowly, "like I sent my kids and wife and Abuelita to Mexico a while ago, we're gonna, like, clear everybody out?  _Everybody_? Is that, like, even possible?"

"We're going to try," Ford said. "Yes, we'll get as many as possible out. Some won't go. I expect Dan won't want to. But the Agency is already rolling. By this time, they'll have consulted with the police and with the Mayor. Listen."

In the silence, they heard woodpeckers in the forest—and the screams of sirens in the direction of town. Many sirens.

"Huh," Stan said. "They move quick, don't they?"

"The Agency prides itself on rapid deployment," Ford said, not sounding happy about it. "They have put together a complex cover story—seismic tremors, suspected gas leaks, an imminent earthquake, possible volcanic eruption off to the north of town, where there are hot springs and some geothermic activity. And they have what will appear to be perfectly legal state and federal authorizations. By tonight at least ninety per cent of the residents will be relocated outside the Valley."

"But—what about, you know—the Gnomes and other supernatural creatures?" Teek asked. He looked miserable. "Mabel would worry so much about them."

"Jeff is spreading the word for them all to lie low, every sentient group, Gnomes, unicorns, all the rest. I believe most of them will be safe enough. Brujo deals with human souls, not with what he would consider mere animals. However, if we find ourselves in extremis—"

"In what?" Stan asked. "Where's that? I thought we'd agreed to make our stand in the Shack."

Ford looked at his brother. "Extremis is a condition, Stanley, not a place. You might say up the creek without a paddle. In that case, at least the Gnomes, who have some immunity against most forms of magic, and the Manotaurs, who have brute strength on their side, may rally around to help us."

Fiddleford looked sadly at the two quiet bundles lying beside the grave, shrouded in quilts—one with a pine-tree pattern, the other with a shooting star. "Reckon we better get on with it."

"Yeah," Stan said gruffly. "Only, please, let's not say anything right now. No last words and goodbyes, OK? Let's just get through this. We can do our rememberin' later on."

He lifted both body bags, one at a time, and with a gentle touch, placed them in the grave, side by side. "There they are. Together, just like always," he muttered softly.

Fiddleford broke down, and Ford put an arm around his old friend's shoulder.

Teek and Soos insisted on filling in the grave. As they did, Ford suddenly straightened and took his phone from inside his jacket. No—not his phone, but a device a little larger than a standard cell phone. "We have a visitor," he said quietly. "No one look around. Focus on the grave. Someone is spying on us right now."

"Is it Brujo?" Wendy asked with a fierce grin. She reached beneath her hair and produced her axe from its scabbard.

"Negative. There's no magic field that I can detect, and no one's attempting to probe us," Ford said. "The protective shield isn't reacting, so I'm virtually certain it's not the sorcerer. But someone is—yes, electromagnetic activity—someone's recording what we do."

"Come to me, Wendy," Stan said. He hugged the redhead. "You're all broke up. Just let it out."

She put her head against his chest, and he held her the way he would have held Mabel if her heart had been broken. "Teek, if you're finished, comfort Pacifica."

Teek hugged Pacifica as Soos tamped down the earth. "Moment of silence. Everyone bow your heads. All right, now let's go inside," Ford said. "Slowly. Don't look back, don't do anything to let them know we're onto them."

"Yeah, but who's  _them_?" Stan asked.

"I think we'll know soon," Ford said.

They went in, they ate a very little—no one had the appetite for lunch—and then sat speaking quietly of their fears and their hopes. The TV showed nothing but a rolling, repeating bulletin:

* * *

**URGENT ANNOUNCEMENT** :

The Governor has declared a state of extreme emergency for Gravity Falls Valley.

The United States Geological Service is predicting an imminent volcanic eruption in the active seismic area north of the town.

**AN ORDER TO EVACUATE HAS BEEN ISSUED.**

Residents of the town and valley must report to the town center now. The National Guard is directing an evacuation.

Do not take more than the necessities. Let authorities know if you are leaving pets behind, and they will be taken care of. Leave now. Time is short.

This announcement will repeat.

* * *

"Still more entertainin' than the local station," Stan growled as he turned off the TV.

And so, they waited as time crawled by.

In mid-afternoon, Ford got a bulletin: Agency men, masquerading as CDC, USGS, and National Guard troops, were well along in the process of evacuating the Valley. They had commandeered hundreds of buses—school buses, Army transports, anything that rolled and had seats—and already the convoys had started.

Ford talked to the agent who had called him and then relayed the news: "They're taking people to the surrounding towns temporarily. Most of them should be moved out by sundown. The Professor says we may have 48 hours before the cover story falls apart. We'll have to move against Brujo by then."

"He gonna send us help?" Stan asked.

"Stanley, I've seen agents up against the paranormal before. Believe me, we stand a much better chance without their help."

"Looks like it's just us against him," Wendy said. "I say we make every blow count."

"It's chancy," Stan warned gloomily. "If he really has got our brainwave patterns all doped out an' recorded, and if he can shoot individualized magic beams or some junk at us designed to wipe us out—I mean if he's targetin' us—we prob'ly won't all make it out alive."

"I've been thinking about that," someone said. "I may have an idea."

They talked over the idea. "I don't like it at all," Pacifica said. "What if he hasn't tagged us? What if there _aren't_  any targeted spells? I mean, if one of us dies—"

Ford said, "If he hasn't tailored his magic to individuals, then our precautions wouldn't help. But if we do take those precautions, we're no worse off—and we may be protected. I say we go for it."

"I'm with you," Wendy said.

Teek nodded.

They all agreed, and at last Pacifica, the holdout, said, "Oh, well, I guess I'm in, too."

Wendy's phone chimed. "Dad," she said, taking it out of her jeans pocket. She answered: "Yeah, Dad? Yeah, I know, I've heard. It's, like, on the TV and all. Yeah, they think there might be like a volcanic eruption comin'. No, I'm leavin' with the Shack team. Got to help out, you know they got babies and—and young folks to look after. OK, tell you what—you take the boys and pick up Aunt Sallie and then drive 'em up to Maryhill. When you go through town, find some National Guard dude and tell them to check on the farm animals. They'll do it, it says so in the announcement. Yeah, you guys stay with Uncle David. Right, and call me when you get there. Don't worry, I'm fine. I'm helpin' the Pines family." She swallowed. In a softer voice, she said, "Yeah, I'll tell 'em. Love you too, Dad. Drive safe."

She hung up, took a deep breath, and said, "Dad says for Stan and Ford to be sure and take care of Dipper and Mabel."

Ford said in a comforting voice, "We just can't say anything yet to anyone outside the group, Wendy. I hope you understand."

She nodded. "Yeah, I do."

And then Pacifica's phone chimed. She took it out of her purse, frowning. "It's Jude. I was supposed to meet him earlier." She held the phone to her ear. "Hello?"

The others watched and listened. She said, "Yeah, you did. I stopped at the Shack. Oh, some things came up. How did you—oh. OK. Where are you? No, listen, don't come in. Because there's some kind of evacuation going on, that's why! Yes, evacuation! I don't know, volcanic activity or something. Don't come into the Valley! They won't let you in, anyhow. The National Guard, that's who. No, I'll be safe. I—I'll probably leave with my family. All right. I'll call later. You, too."

She hung up. "He says he drove past and noticed my car parked in the lot."

"Aw, dawg, you can't see the lot from the highway," Soos said. "Not since the rhododendrons grew so tall."

Pacifica was checking her phone again. When she spoke, she sounded furious: "He told me he was over in Hirschville. That's where his relatives live, the ones he's visiting. But he isn't."

"Ah," Ford said. "You located his phone."

"Yeah, I can track it, 'cause it's the same as mine, and—huh. He's in the Valley," Pacifica said. "Like, up in the hills."

"Let me see." Wendy glanced at the map. "Yeah, dudes, that's a logging road. Some old shacks up that way, couple small farms, that's all. Why would he lie?"

"Just one reason," Stan said. "And one way he'd know your car was here, Pacifica. He's been spyin' on us."

"Stranger danger," Ford said, his tone grim.

Jude asked, "A volcano?"

"It's a trick," Brujo said flatly.

"There is a volcano not far from here, though," the boy told the older man. "Mount Hood. It's still active. And Mount St. Helens is about fifty miles north of Portland. It might be true. Maybe we should get out of here."

Brujo, still pale from his efforts earlier, half-lay in a chair. "No. I would know if it were. The Pines men are behind this. It's all lies. Tell me what you saw. Everything."

"I made a video." Jude found it on his phone and handed the instrument to Brujo. "Here, you'll see. That red car there's Pacifica's. There, see, they're coming out of the house? Eight of them, that's all. There, the two Pines guys, the tallest guys, are carrying out the bodies. I'm gonna skip ahead. All right, they've dug the grave, the big dumb guy and Stanley Pines. The teen guy, O'Grady, there—in the hoodie—he's helping, see? Now the other Pines guy is shaping up the dirt they've tossed out."

Brujo watched as with great care the despondent group lowered the two body bags into the earth, covered them, and then held each other. "I judged well," he said, evil glee in his voice. "The memory of their loss will weaken them. And I took the two least important ones."

The video ended, and Brujo was just handing the phone back to Jude when it rang.

"That's Pacifica," Jude said, recognizing the ring tone. "You want me to answer it?"

Brujo, smiling, nodded. "Yes. If she wishes you to help her in the so-called evacuation, say you will do it. And then bring her to me. A hostage will make things simpler. I can even break her, turn her against the others. Yes, answer it."

Jude answered the phone. "Hi, Paz—"

On the other end, a deep voice said, "No. This is Dr. Stanford Pines. Let me talk to Brujo."


	13. Betrayal

**Breaking the Zodiac**

**By William Easley**

**(August 2015)**

* * *

**13: Betrayal**

Jude's face turned pale. "It's—it's not her," he said, clutching his phone. "It's Stanford Pines. He wants—"

Brujo glared at him. "Fool!"

Shivering, Jude said, "It's not my fault! He wants to speak to you."

Brujo clenched his teeth. He had been betrayed—betrayed by this, this servant! This ignorant boy! He would not take the phone, but said, "Turn on the speaker. Put the instrument on the table."

Jude obeyed. From the phone came Stanford Pines's voice: "I repeat: Let me speak to Brujo. Now. I haven't much patience."

"I am here, Doctor Pines" Brujo said. He gave the word "doctor" a twist that made it sound like a vile and profane insult.

Stanford's voice again, remarkably cold: "Brujo. I know who you are, and I know what you have done. The souls of your victims want vengeance. You must know you can receive no mercy now."

Brujo laughed. "Mercy? I have never asked for mercy." His taunting tone grew sharper: "Who are you to make such threats? You're weak! I have broken the circle. It will be less painful for you all if you submit."

"You're still outnumbered, Brujo. And now that you and I have spoken, you know I can find you, no matter where you hide."

"Find me?" Brujo mocked. "I've seen you before, I've stood in your very house, I used the body of your friend to see for myself how limited and stupid you are! You don't know that I have been leading you all along, do you? How would you find me?"

"Do you want me to say it?" Ford asked.

"Say what? You are a man of  _science_!" Again, Brujo's voice made the last word sound like the depths of foolishness. "What do you know of deep magic? You're not as wise as the children I took! I am the master of dire spells! You know nothing of them!"

"I know the Incantation of Tindalos," Ford said calmly.

Brujo hesitated, feeling cold. The Hounds—they could find anyone, and no one could evade them. But that called for a master, someone who knew the shadows and not just the light—still sounding sarcastic, Brujo asked, "Are you telling me you are a sorcerer?"

Stanford did not rise to the challenge or show the least anger, though he must have been furious, Brujo thought, at the loss of his young relatives. Pines said quietly, "I'm telling you that I am your executioner."

"I see." What the young people called a poser, Brujo thought. Stanford Pines was no good at bluffing. His ignorant brother Stanley had mastered the art at the card table, but even he could not fool a true magician. "My friend, you may find me difficult to kill. And why should you want to kill an old man like me? What makes you think you would be able to overcome me?"

"I'm no friend of yours. As for my reasons, your evil is cause enough. As for why I can challenge you, I know that the magic you used against us has cost you. You're weak, Brujo."

"I am stronger than you think." Brujo closed his eyes and reached out with his mind. He should be able to seize control—

"Save your effort," Stanford said. "My mind is closed to you."

Brujo gasped, shuddering from something very much like an electric shock. What the infuriating man said was true—he could find no way into that intellect. Something he did not understand blocked the  _naeniam servitutis,_ the strongest incantation of enslavement he could use without sacrificing blood.

"I don't think you can afford to lose more blood right now," Pines said.

How did he know that? The  _naeniam servitutis_ did not fully break the victim's will, but it rendered him complacent, dull of mind—and yet it had no effect on Pines but had almost threatened to rebound on him, the caster! No one had ever resisted the spell before. "You may have some ability," Brujo said, making his tone sound grudging.

"More than you know, and you gave it to me," Stanford told him. "I suppose it's useless to ask you to surrender."

"Quite useless."

"This has to end," Stanford said. " _You_  have to end. Confront me."

"A wizard's duel?" Brujo asked. "Don't be a fool."

"If you want to call it that, yes, I challenge you to a wizard's duel. On territory I name."

"Then I have the right to name the time."

"As you will."

Brujo laughed. "Three in the morning, of course."

"When the Powers of Evil are exalted."

"So you say," Brujo replied. "I don't use such childish terms as good and evil."

Stanford said, "I accept. Three in the morning. The place will be Ballet Flats. Here is how to find it."

Brujo pushed himself back from the telephone, leaping to his feet, clenching his fists, grimacing.

Somehow Pines had communicated with him directly, mind to mind, and in a flash of thought, he had a clear grasp of how to find the place—but he, Brujo, to have his mind violated, to have someone force in an alien thought—"No one does this to me! You will die for this," he snarled.

"We'll see who will die. Three o'clock, Ballet Flats. I will meet you alone." Pines hung up.

"You," Brujo growled, spinning to face the cowering boy. "You fool, you useless puppet!"

"I didn't do anything!" Jude protested. "You wanted me to spy on them, and I showed you the funeral! I didn't do anything wrong!"

"And you never will again!"

Jude turned to flee but never made the first step.

What happened was—explosive and gruesome. Bloody. Deep magic had to be bought with blood. The darkest kind had to be purchased with Brujo's own blood.

However, the sacrifice of others could nourish him, strengthen him. The boy, whom he had found in Idaho, was of no further use—a runaway from Canada, a petty thief and a smooth liar, but attractive and possessed of a smooth tongue. Brujo had hoped to capture and ensnare the Northwest girl through him, the one he reckoned the weakest of the Zodiac ten, but—

 _When was the last time things had gone so wrong?_  He couldn't remember. Perhaps when he had prepared to murder his master, the apprentice stepping into the dead man's shoes, and the old German had discovered the plot and had almost been able to save himself.

That fight had wounded Brujo deeply. It took him a year to recover fully. What could be thwarting him now, though, when he faced no cunning, devious sorcerer? It was the power, the power of the Ten, he thought. He coveted that force because it was strong, and because it was strong it offered protection to those who made up the number.

Ah, but he had taken two. As he had told Pines, he had broken the Zodiac. As in deep winter mountains the least disturbance of an uneven cover of snow could precipitate an avalanche, the deaths of two—and the two young ones, two the others would feel the loss of, as they had shown at the funeral—that could collapse the whole, render them weak, expose them to attack.

Brujo smiled. He would have them. He would have them all yet. Break their wills, make them slaves, and absorb their powers—there was nothing he would be incapable of, even with the power of only eight of the ten! He could rule the world from the shadows, or open the Gates so the Elder Ones could come through to reassert their domain and exalt him as Master of All, serve him, and conquer the world for him! He would be invincible, he would be immortal—

He felt stronger now that Jude had been drained. Perhaps not strong enough, though. He might need to summon his last servant.

Young blood always helped prepare him for a hard struggle.

"Ya can't face this bastard alone, Poindexter!" Stanley insisted even as he helped Ford prepare the ground.

"I have to initially, Stanley. Or at least we must trick him into believing that I'm facing him alone. I promised nothing about what would happen after our meeting, though, so there's our loophole."

"Loophole, nothin! You're givin' him a free shot at you! Why can't we all just gang up?"

"Because, unfortunately, those of us who fight for the powers of light must obey the rules." Stanford smiled. "But of course, after the initial encounter, there's nothing in the rule book that says the rest of the Zodiac can't attack."

"This stuff is invisible," Stanley grumbled. They had traced a circle on the ground with twine and stakes, and Stanley was using a spray can to mark the circle on the ground—but the paint was a clear varnish, and it did not show.

"That's not important," Stanford said. "Even if we can't see it, we know it's there. Now, that clump of dry grass is at the exact center."

"Yeah, but this circle's way too big for us to hold hands," Stan said, straightening up.

"No matter, Stanley. We've strengthened the bonds between us. We don't have to physically touch to generate a magical field that won't allow Brujo to escape."

"Say we capture him, what then? We stand around doin' the Soos Love Stomach Beam Stare while he picks us off one at a time?"

"I hope he won't be able to do that, not with our plan."

"What odds?"

"I'd say fifty-fifty."

"OK, and what happens if we're on the short end of that deal?"

Stanford adjusted his spectacles. "Stanley, at fifty-fifty, there's no short end—"

"What if he  _kills_  one of us?" Stan bellowed. "Every time he kills somebody, you say he gets stronger!"

"He also gets weaker," Stanford said reasonably.

"That makes a lotta sense!" Stan snarled.

"I know it's a paradox, Stanley. It's also true. He must sacrifice his own blood for that kind of spell. Even as his magical power grows, his bodily power ebbs."

Stan stared at the invisible circle he had sprayed. It was invisible. "What are you suggestin'?"

"If one of us goes down, the others break out the weapons."

"The disruptor guns and the magnet thingies and—"

"Yes, though even conventional weapons should do it, but he'll be fast, and those who are armed must not miss. Fiddleford's not a good shot. I'd trust you and Wendy. Mr. O'Grady is angry enough to kill. If I live through the first encounter, I've practiced, and I think I could hit him from this distance without endangering anyone else."

"Gideon?"

"Maybe. He's compromised by his experience as a werewolf."

"Huh. Soos—too tender-hearted. The others, no experience."

"Agreed. We don't want to arm anyone who might feel even the slightest compunction. We must remember we're dealing with a serial murderer, a conscienceless man who takes the lives of children and helpless women. He never fights fair. Whatever punishment—"

"Hey, Preacher, I'm the choir here," Stanley said. "OK. I suggest the ones of us who're bringin' along guns to a magic fight get in some target practice."

"I think that would be wise, after we first take the other precautions." Stanford bent and pulled up one of the stakes. "Let's get rid of these and the twine."

"But we'll need to have some idea of where—"

"Trust me, Stanley," his brother said. "When the time comes, anyone who's a member of the Zodiac will be able to see the outline of the circle."

"Not Brujo, though?"

Stanford was rolling up the twine. "No, not Brujo. But as you said more than once about the bullies in Glass Shard Beach—screw him."

"Hah!" Stan said. "Ya know, Ford—you got potential."

They rode back to the Shack in the golf cart. When they passed the pig pen, Widdles cried out in a heartbroken way. "Bastard," Stanley muttered. "Usin' the pig to lure Mabel. You're right, Ford. However we can take him down, we do it, no mercy."

"That's how we should all feel," Ford agreed.

"Come in," Brujo said, stepping back.

The dilapidated log cabin had only one room. Traci stepped in stopped, and said, "Oh, my God! What did you do to him?"

"He made a mistake," Brujo said.

Jude's body was not a pretty sight. Drained of blood, he lay like a mummy, his skin pale gray, lips colorless, eyes shrunken and crusted.

Nervously, Traci said, "I did everything you asked!"

"You served me well, slave," Brujo said.

She relaxed and smiled. "Yes, Master."

"And now I must take your life."

For an instant, anguish writhed over her face. He waved his hand. "Yes, Master," she said then, smiling vaguely.

"Your blood will feed my power. You may rejoice in your service."

"I understand. Do you want me naked?"

"That is not necessary. On your knees, slave." When she hesitated, he reached to touch her cheek. "You have been a good servant. This will not be painful."

She obeyed, and she obediently knelt before him, still smiling.

Until she began to scream.

He had lied.


	14. Rules of Engagement

**Breaking the Zodiac**

**(August 2015)**

* * *

**14: Rules of Engagement**

Soos, uncharacteristically, kept silent. He wandered through the rooms of the Mystery Shack, as though he were on the verge of moving away forever and wanted to remember everything as it was.

In the museum and the gift shop, he kept touching the fake exhibits—the Sascrotch, the Jackalope, the (fake) stuffed Eyebat, all the others. When Wendy came up behind him as he smiled wistfully at the Fiji Mermaid and touched his shoulder, Soos didn't look at her, but said softly, "You get used to kids, you know. Their racket. Dawg, I even miss the crying. This place is so, like, lonely."

"I know, dude," Wendy said, patting his shoulder. "But they'll be back."

He just nodded.

The group held what Stan called a prayer meeting in the parlor, everyone except Stanford sitting tense and jumpy-looking. Pacing the floor, Ford said, "Well, we've planned our preparations. Now I think we need to rest as much as we can, and then I suggest we do the penultimate step—and thank you for that suggestion—before midnight."

"I thought he wasn't a-going to challenge you until three in the mornin'," Fiddleford said.

Ford shook his head and gave them a bitter smile. "That's what he said—and we know how much to trust his word. All right. He's going to rely on his skill with dark magic—and that, we know, is impressive. We must do everything we can to avoid anyone's taking a lethal hit when he targets us. By preparing a little early, we'll have some time to become more accustomed to our roles in the showdown."

"I don't like your meetin' him alone," Stan said. "That's just askin' for trouble."

"It's a huge risk," Ford admitted. "And I'm more worried about it than I can tell you. However, once the first blow is struck, the field will be open to others to come in—even if I'm no longer able to fight."

Pacifica, who insisted on sitting apart from the others, hugged herself, hunched over in her chair. Her grief-twisted face showed she was still mourning. She wiped her eyes with the heel of her hand. "I can't believe Jude got to be—my friend—just to spy on us!"

"It may not have been his choice," Ford said, pausing in his pacing. "Brujo is a master at a kind of hypnotic mind control. He may have taken control of Jude, acted through him, or forced him to do things the boy wouldn't ordinarily have done."

"When I see Jude again—" Pacifica said. She balled her fists. "No, I'm not even gonna think about that! Not now. Not until this is over. And  _then_ if I see him—he's not gonna like it."

Gideon, sitting the closest to her, said, "Pacifica, you and me just plain got bad luck when it comes to relationships. But I got a feeling that if we come through this alive, that's gonna change. Better times ahead!"

Teek, opposite Pacifica, said, "For what it's worth, Paz, I know Adam misses you a lot. I saw him, and he asked if you were serious about staying in the public school. He said he wanted to apologize to you—if you'll hear him out."

"Yeah. I'll call him after—afterward," Pacifica said. "Adam's a sweet guy, and I didn't always treat him too well. But that—you know."

They knew. Their trouble as a couple had come during a time of her father's going a little bit crazy with his renewed business success.

The phone rang, startling everybody, and Stan grabbed it. "Hello, Mystery Shack, where the fun is guaranteed but you're on your own with the merch! Huh? Yeah." He listened. "Yeah, you want my brother. I'll put him on."

He held out the receiver. "It's that Agent Powers guy," he said. Then he whispered, "Not a word about pugs!"

Looking mildly puzzled, Ford took the phone. "Hello, Agent. Yes, I understand. Thank you. No, your forces should pull back out of the Valley . . . yes, that will be fine. Thank you. Certainly, I'll let him know. Tell himself that we're as ready as we'll ever be. If we fail, tell him Operation Hound is the only option. Yes, I agree."

He handed the phone back, and Stan hung it up. "Well, Brainiac, what's up?"

Ford leaned against the wall. "The Agency says they're close to eighty per cent on the evacuations. There are a few holdouts, but the Manotaurs and the Gnomes are urging them at least to places of safety. The evacuation should be over by sunset, with probably ninety to ninety-five percent of the population out of the Valley. The Agency troops will camp just outside, past the bluffs. If we need them, we'll call. You all have the number. The help code is 999."

"What's Operation Hound, dawg?" Soos asked.

Ford sighed. "It's an angle, you might say. A desperation move. Something like a nuclear option. You don't want to know."

Unsettled, fearful, they settled in to wait.

The phone rang again late in the afternoon. This time Ford took the call, and it was Brujo. "Are you among friends?" he asked in a voice that smirked.

"What do you have to say?" Ford asked brusquely, in no mood for chit-chat.

Brujo lacked any accent. He sounded purely American, but a linguist would never have been able to guess what part of the country that voice might have come from: "I am in a kind mood. I merely wanted to give all the _remaining_  members of the Circle a chance to surrender. If you do, you'll all live. Oh, I'll take your power, and I'm afraid your intellects will suffer—but you will be left alive."

Ford glanced around. "Anybody feel like surrendering?"

Stan's "Hell, no!" was only the loudest of the replies. Otherwise, though differently expressed, the team gave a unanimous response.

"I'm sure you heard. There's your answer," Ford said. "Three in the morning, then. No tricks. A formal wizard's duel, with the classic rules, as laid down in 1250 AD by Doctor Mirabilis Roger Bacon and Magister Prospero in  _De Magia Artium._ "

"Do you believe I'd be so stupid as to try to trick  _you_?" Brujo said, his voice cold and smooth. "I'm aware that you are the most intelligent of the Circle."

"Don't try to divert my attention. I insist on a commitment," Ford told him. "All sorcerers, light and dark, honor those rules. Do you know of the work, and will you agree to obey the laws of magical combat?"

"Yes," Brujo said.

Ford insisted: "Yes you know the book, or yes you'll abide by the rules?"

After a long pause, Brujo said, "The latter."

Ford grunted impatiently. "Then commit. Your assent alone is not sufficient. Swear like this: I, Stanford Filbrick Pines, swear that in this contest I will conduct myself by the sacred rules of the art, as expressed in  _De Magia Artium,_  in fair magical combat against my opponent Brujo. If you'll do the same, swear it."

Now sounding bored, Brujo said, "I swear that I will abide by the rules of the art as expressed in  _De Magia Artium_  in destroying my that do?

Ford refused to allow his anger into his voice: "It will serve as a binding oath. You realize that if you violate the rules in any way, even the smallest, then I—and all of my friends—will no longer be bound by them either."

Without responding to that, Brujo said brusquely, "Prepare for our meeting. I will be at the appointed place at the appointed time."

"I will mark off the combat ground with candles, as the rules require. We both step into arena at three o'clock," Ford replied. "Then—to the death."

"No. Worse than that," Brujo said just before hanging up.

* * *

Though they all did try to rest, no one slept. Just after full dark fell, a little after ten PM, Wendy heard a voice outside, crying out as if in pain.

She went through the darkened gift shop and looked out the window in the door. Someone stood in the parking lot, but the lot was too dark to make out who it was. Wendy brought Ford and Stanley in. Stan, his bib nose close to the window as he peered, said, "It's that girl Soos hired, Traci. What's she even doin' here? She should have evacuated with her family."

Ford took his place and gazed out at the figure in the dark. "It may not be Traci." He turned on the parking lot lights.

It was Traci, or it looked like her. She stood just beyond the boundary of protection. Ford opened the door. "What do you want?"

"Help me," Traci wailed. "I'm hurt!"

"Come in, then."

"Can't . . . walk any more. Help me."

"Stan, Wendy, wait here." Ford stepped out on the porch with an anomaly detector in his grip. He stepped off the porch and onto the lawn, but instead of approaching her, Ford scanned her. "I see, Brujo. You killed the girl, too," Ford called. "And now you're trying to trick us."

The girl threw back her head and laughed in an insane way, and then they could see the bloodstains on her throat.

"Oh, my God!" Wendy said, coming down off the porch. "That son of a—"

"That does no good, Wendy," Ford said. He yelled, "Brujo! Bad luck for the combatants to see each other before the duel! Three o'clock, in the place appointed." He pulled Wendy back inside the gift shop and slammed the door.

They watched, aghast, as Traci's body jerked and staggered, like a marionette operated by a mad puppeteer. The girl dropped in a loose, limp heap to the ground.

"C'mon, guys! We should at least check her out," Wendy said. "She may be alive."

Ford walked with Wendy to the edge of the protective boundary, but then he caught her arm, stopping her. "This will tell the story," he said, adjusting the settings and then aiming the detector toward the body. He shook his head a moment later. "No life signs. She's dead, Wendy. We'll bury her after—"

"Look out!" Wendy grabbed Ford around the waist and dived, dragging him down. They hit the ground a half-second before the reanimated corpse leaped up and flung itself at them, howling.

The protective barrier flared into bright purple light, they heard a sizzle, and the force field hurled the body clean across the lot and into the grass on the far side. Green and red flames flickered on it and then died out.

Stan had run out, and he helped Wendy and Ford back to their feet. "That was just wrong," he said in a voice full of deadly anger.

"Dudes," Wendy said, "he tried to kill me and Ford!"

"No—I don't think so," Ford said, dusting himself off. "He tried to hurl his puppet through the boundary. If it had come through, his consciousness might also have made the passage. I think he would have tried to possess you."

"Me?"

"What?" Stan asked.

"My brain is shielded," Ford said. "A precaution I took many years ago when up against Bill Cipher. Wendy, yours would be vulnerable. As would Stan's." He checked his watch. "Hm. Not midnight—but since Brujo violated the rules, I think we should go ahead with our plans. Let's tell the others."

Wendy looked out at the far side of the parking lot. The body no longer smoldered. Looking like a pile of discarded clothing, it lay barely visible in the taller grass beyond the lot. Wendy said, "I'm not sure about this, Dr. Pines."

"Nor am I, Wendy. But this is what Dipper wanted—"

"Yeah," she said.

As the three of them walked back, Ford noticed for the first time that Wendy held her axe in a death grip.

"Let's do it," she said as they went into the Shack and locked the door behind them.


	15. Showdown

**Breaking the Zodiac**

**By William Easley**

**(August 2015)**

* * *

**15: Showdown**

They set out at two-thirty, taking the tram as far as they could, then walking to Ballet Flats. "Conceal yourselves," Ford said. "You'll know when to take your places. Be sure we keep him within the circle—at least there we can contain the damage."

They all wore belts with boxy electronic devices attached, and they all turned these on as they hid in the brush off the periphery of the circle. The devices vibrated with a silent hum but did not light up. Maybe, Ford had said, the devices would work.

They had chosen a good spot—a place on the flats where bushes and small trees over six feet tall clustered close on every side of the circle of candles but the narrow approach from the trail.

From hiding they watched as the figure of Ford, dim in the light of a waning moon, made the rounds lighting the candles. Once more they burned with colored flames—marking off their positions on the circumference of the Zodiac.

By the time all the colorful flames flickered, it was nearly three in the morning. Separated, concealed, spread out, they were left to their own silent thoughts as they waited—for whatever was going to come.

Soos murmured the prayer to St. Michael that begins, _Sáncte Míchael Archángele, defénde nos in proélio, cóntra nequítiam et insídias diáboli ésto præsídium._  It asked for protection in the human struggle against the devil and all his hosts, and Soos had learned it from his Abuelita when he was a child. He thought of his grandmother, Melody, Little Soos, and Harmony. More than anything, he wanted to come through this and see them again.

Gideon felt locked in fretful worry.  _I know I got some baggage here. I was selfish and spiteful, and I treated so many people bad. I've been tryin' to do better, but I'm not as good as I should be. And when I got bit, I felt that pull toward darkness. I might not've been able to resist temptation. I got to be strong tonight. I can't give in. I can't ever give in again. 'Cause if I do, I'm lost._

Pacifica, her heart feeling like a stone, had to keep reminding herself:  _Keep your head clear, girl. You're furious with Jude and you're mad at yourself because you let yourself get all hung up on what you want and what you need. Time to think of other people. Your friends need you now. Don't let them down._

So it went, with all the others fixated on their worries and their fears. Well, except for Fiddleford, who was thinking,  _A self-cleanin' spit valve would be a mighty big help to trombone players. And how about a mechanicarobomajig rooster fer old-fashioned farm folks what don't like being woke up by alarm clocks? Hey, I just remembered when I had my automobobble accident, I skint up my chin and slapped a bandage on it. I disremember ever peelin' her off! THAT'S why I had a bandage on my beard! Why did nobody never tell me?_

The could see the silhouette of Ford at the candle farthest from the trail. It would be vital for Brujo to approach him—preferably to stand on the patch of dry grass, which showed up as a light blur in the moonlight. That would place him in the center and give them their best shot.

They kept glancing at the time on their phones. At precisely 3:00, they heard Ford's voice: "I laid out the dueling grounds, as you see."

Brujo had melted out of the night. They could all see him—sort of—in the moonlight and the flickering illumination from the candles.

Their first thought was unanimous and almost disappointed:  _That's him?_

Because the monster was just an ordinary-looking little man, no more than five-eight, no more than a hundred and forty pounds. He wore black trousers and jacket over a white shirt. They couldn't see details, but he came forward slowly, like a seventy-year-old being careful of his footing in the dark. "You realize," he said in an ordinary voice, level and without accent, "that you are bound to lose."

"That's what this duel will test," Ford's voice answered. "Approach. Come into the circle if you mean to do this thing."

"It's a trap."

"No," Stanford's voice said. "It's a dueling ground. Exactly as put down in the rules. Didn't you bother to read them?"

For the first time, Brujo's voice took on an edge of anger: "I have read more books of lore than you can imagine!"

"Then let's obey the rules."

Brujo's voice became sly: "How can I trust you? You seem to have knowledge of the art. What assurance can you give me that this is not a trick?"

"You're a wizard. Do you feel there's any trickery going on?"

After a grudging moment, Brujo admitted, "I sense no one but ourselves. But as for these foolish rules—"

"Rules that you swore to obey. A wizard's oath is binding. You must know if you start the fight from outside the circle you automatically lose."

With an annoyed grunt, Brujo strode past the red candle. They could see Ford taking three steps in from the blue flame of the candle closest to him. Brujo came close to the center of the circle—the place where they wanted him.

"Before we start this, Brujo, do you wish to repent? Is there anything you regret?"

Brujo laughed. "Fool! Is this where I lay out my plans and boast of my victories, distracting myself so you can attack? I regret nothing! I repent nothing! I take what I want, and I destroy whom I want. Other lives are nothing to me, nothing!"

Ford shrugged. "All right. I gave you a chance. Let's begin."

They saw Ford bow to his opponent. Brujo began to bow—but then before completing the motion, he spoke a sharp word and thrust his hand out, sending an invisible jolt of magic to blast Ford off his feet.

They almost rushed forward, but Ford had warned them earlier:  _Even if he attacks, don't come to my aid until you're sure that I'm either down for good or until I give the signal. This is vital!_

Holding their breath, the group strained forward, ready to run, but held their places.

Brujo had straightened up. "Fool! To think that I would be hampered by your stupid rules. Not dead yet, no, not yet. You will live for a few painful moments," Brujo purred as he took one step forward. "Long enough for me to place my hand on your head and extract what I—"

He broke off.

Ford had rolled to his stomach, got to his knees, and pushed himself up, brushing off his coat as though annoyed at having rolled in the dirt. "That was a foul blow," he said in a calm, steady voice. "Oops, Brujo, that was rougher on you than on me. You're bleeding."

They saw Brujo wipe a palm against his upper lip. Some dark spatters showed on the breast of his white shirt. "You have cast a protective spell," he said, his voice muffled.

"I didn't cast any spell at all. I give you my word I haven't. Maybe your powers just aren't strong enough to overcome me," Ford said. "Maybe you've become weak and overconfident."

Brujo raised his arm again.

But Ford said, "No! My turn!" In a flash of motion, he extended his hand, and in it was—a wand. "Destroy!" He flicked the wand, and its tip glowed red.

Brujo leaped backward, but the beam hit him full in the chest. Frantically he slapped at the glowing red spot. "What spell, what spell?" Then he stopped as the dot began to make harmless circles on his shirt. "What is this?"

"It's a toy magic wand, but it's basically a laser," Ford said. "If you want one of your own, they're for sale in the Mystery Shack gift shop. Hey, if you have one and a cat you can have hours of fun."

Brujo wiped his lip again. His nose still leaked blood. "What? A  _toy_? It can't harm me! What did you expect it to do?"

"Distract you, dumb douchebag!" Wendy's voice. At the laser signal, the lanky form of the lumberjack girl had stepped up to the red candle and stood there holding her axe, chopping the air indolently, almost absent-mindedly.

"You've broken the rules!" Brujo raged, turning back to Ford.

"Not at all. The rules are clear: No efforts to harm before the duel begins. You broke them when you sent Traci's body to attack us, you liar."

Brujo whirled and aimed a spell at Wendy. Purple and green light flashed in a momentary globe around her, but she didn't even take a step back. "That was pretty, but it's too little, too late! You have to pay for what you did," she yelled. "Hurting an innocent pig!"

Only then did Brujo realize that others had also emerged from the brush and had stepped inside the ring of candles. He snarled as he headed toward the big fat one with the question-mark shirt—who grinned. "Ya want a piece of me, punk?" he asked. He raised a pistol and fired it—shooting not a bullet, but a pulse of energy that blasted a smoking crater at Brujo's feet, making him leap backward. Soos laughed. "Big man! Gonna take us all on at once, are ya?"

"Not all!" Brujo roared. Despite his confusion and surprise, he sounded triumphant: "You've already lost, you band of fools! For the Circle to protect you all, there must be ten—not just eight! I won't even kill you! I'll do worse! I'll make you all wish you were dead!"

Gideon said, "You got a big ol' mouth on you, feller! You're the one gonna wish that. You gotta pay for what you done! And I'm a-warnin' you—I'm an easy guy to get along with, but I got a powerful grudge against you!"

"Give it up, dude," Teek said. "You can still, like, surrender and junk. You're only making it worse for yourself."

Fiddleford added, "You've plumb run out of luck, turkey! We got you outnumbered and surrounded!"

Pacifica: "Dude, you don't even know what you're up against here. We, like, fought a demon and  _won_!"

"Enough!" Brujo screamed. "You will all die!" He drew back his arm—

"Hold on! Are we late to the party?" asked a young voice.

Smiling, Dipper and Mabel Pines walked out, hand in hand, and took their places within the circle of candles.

For a moment the evil magician stared, his jaw dropping open. "You're dead!" Brujo screeched. He glared at Ford. "I hit hit you with the dire spell of death! I know I  _killed_  the tree and the comet! I saw them die! You used a resurrection spell! You've corrupted your protection, fool! That's dark magic!"

Stanley said, "Your surmise is incorrect on two counts. First, we needed no resurrection spell. Second, you failed to kill the twins."

Brujo was shaking with rage. "You lie! I hit them with the death spell, and I  _saw_  them die!"

Gideon said, "Nope. What you seen was two life-like automatajiggers, made to look and act just like Dipper and Mabel an' programmified from their thought patterns. They was made so good that when you hurt the pig, the girl one went runnin' out to help, and the boy one went runnin' to protect his sister, just like the real ones would've done."

"Kill you all!" Brujo raged.

"Enough. It's time to end this. Everyone join hands," Stanley said.

Brujo frothed at the mouth, spittle streaked with blood that looked black in the candle light. "I tell you, I am supreme! No spell of yours can destroy me!"

"We'll see about that," Dipper said. They had all reached to grasp each other's hands. Brujo, like a furious child made to be "it" in some deadly game, screamed again as he swept his arms in an all-encompassing gesture—

A boiling explosion of green light veined with purple lit up the whole world, smashed into the Zodiac team, and blasted them tumbling through the air—

But something, some power, some invisible force, something irresistible, rebounded from them and shot back to strike the source, the staggering, raving, bleeding man at the center of the circle—

It ended in a millisecond.

 _Too soon_ , Ford would have said. A death too quick and too nearly painless for the conscienceless murderer who had killed so many. Such a release was too merciful. Brujo deserved worse.

 _I wish I'd got a crack at him with the knucks,_ Stanley would have said. A smackdown, a Glass Shard Beach special just might have taught the bastard a lesson or two. Yeah, it was over too quick and easy for him. He shoulda suffered for his sins.

To which Soos would have quietly added, Don't worry, dawg. Where he's gone, it won't be over quick at all.

The blast had not knocked over the candles, miraculously, but it had extinguished every one.

The night fell like a suffocating black curtain, dark and seeming final.

But then the plaid candle wick glowed orange and flickered to life. The red one. The blue one. Feeble at first, then burning brighter. One by one, all ten candles woke up. The colorful flames shone clear.

The Gnomes, who had been watching silently from the underbrush, crept out and gazed at the brilliant candles.

Jeff said, "OK, Steve, tell the Manotaurs to guard the circle just in case. Nothing comes out, not a man, not an animal or bird or bat or bug. Nothing. The rest of you, let's go find what happened to our friends."

"Shmebulock," said Jeff's dearest friend and severest critic, patting Jeff's shoulder.

"I hope they are," Jeff said. "Let's go find them."


	16. After the War

**Breaking the Zodiac**

**By William Easley**

**(August 2015)**

* * *

**16: After the War**

Dipper came to lying in the dark, in a tangle of brambles. He tried to stand up, got dizzy, and then crept on hands and knees toward something rustling nearby.

It was a Gnome. "Found one!" he called. "This way, big guy."

Dipper crawled into a clear patch and, holding onto a sapling, hauled himself up. "That hurt," he said.

"Here," the Gnome said from down around his ankles. He couldn't see clearly—the moon wasn't bright—but he bent and discovered the Gnome was holding his hat. "Thanks. Where is everybody?"

"Dipper?" Wendy's voice!

He said, "'Scuse me!" and ran blundering toward it.

He ran straight into her, hugged her, lifted her off her feet, and swung her around as she laughed. "Wendy! Uh—are you you?"

She was still laughing. "Yeah, dude! The shock, like, knocked the carpet mix-up spell right out of me. You  _are_  Dip, aren't you, and not Teek?"

He kissed her. "What do you think?"

"Yep. You're my Big Dipper. Come on, Mabes is over here," she said. "Let's find everybody else."

Dipper took out his pocket flashlight. He could see lights some distance away. "That the circle through the brush?"

"Yeah, think so," Wendy said. "Those crazy candle flames in all colors."

"Dipper!" Mabel ran to hug him. "Ooh, you're all scratched up!"

"Kinda landed in a patch of devil's club, I think. You OK?"

"Yeah, got the wind knocked out of me is all. Then when I could stand up, I wondered how come I wasn't tall and red-headed and didn't have an axe! I thought we'd have to use the electron carpet to get back to our own bodies."

"Guess whatever that guy hit us with did it instead," Wendy said. "Come on—I hear somebody else over there."

It was Pacifica, with a black eye, being helped to her feet by Gideon, whose clothes were torn. "Did we do it?" she asked in a shaky voice.

"We did it, all right," Wendy said. "He hit us with his best shot and just shook us up a little."

"Are you hurt bad?" Gideon asked Pacifica. "You've got a big old lump on your forehead."

"I hit a tree," Pacifica said, rubbing it. "Thanks, I'm OK now. You're limping."

"Somehow got my foot caught in some roots," Gideon said. "Those little Gnome guys gnawed through them to get me loose."

"I think we ought to head back to the circle, guys," Dipper said.

"What if Brujo ain't down?" Gideon asked with a note of anxiety. "We're back in our own bodies now, and his spells can knock the stuffin' out of us."

"I think he's probably down," Dipper said. "This way."

They struggled to the edge of the clearing, where they saw Ford and Stan leaning on each other. Mabel ran to hug them. "You guys all right?"

"Everything hurts," they both said at once. Then Stan, more soberly, said, "Maybe you shouldn't look in the circle."

"Nuts to that," Mabel said. "Oh. I see."

The candles, burning extraordinarily bright, illuminated the Zodiac circle. Its center had been marked by a huge, black-streaked starburst of blood. Two looming figures circled it on the outside—Pituataur and Chutzpar. "All clear," Chutzpar rumbled.

Ford shakily turned the anomaly detector on and scanned. "Did this once already. Just confirming the findings. Yes, he's dead," he said. "It's over."

More voices, and Soos and Teek came stumbling into the light. Mabel threw herself on Teek and kissed him passionately. "Whoa!" he said, grinning, his voice muffled.

"Dude," Soos said, holding out his hand to Stanley. "You, like, made me look like a hero back there when you were in my body!"

"Ah, forget about it," Stan said gruffly, shaking Soos's hand. "And I woulda pounded the jerk if I hadn't've been worried about him messin' you up, too. I mean, I had to think about your family."

"It's also our family," Mabel said, finally breaking her kiss. "You're like Grunkle Stan's son! That makes us cousins! Or something!"

They heard someone yelling, "Which-a way?" and Stan called back, "Over here!"

Fiddleford McGucket, the last one, came up to the edge of the light. "I got smackdoodled clean over th' crick an' landed in a tree!" he announced.

"Are you hurt?" Stanford asked him.

"Naw, not so much. Just my pride."

"Come on," Stan said.

"Uh, no, I can't," Fiddleford said, shaking his head. "I done tore the whole seat out of my britches!"

"Aw, for the love of—" Stan took off his jacket and tossed it to Fiddleford. "Here, use this."

"I don't think my legs'll fit in the sleeves," Fiddleford said.

"Tie the sleeves around your waist!" Stan snapped. "No, not like an apron! Hang the jacket  _behind_  you—there ya go."

Ford had circled the Zodiac, studying his detector readout. "It's clean," he said.

"Just to be sure," Chutzpar said, "we will patrol through the night."

"Dudes," Soos said, "if we can get Father Perez back from, like, evacuation land, I think he ought to exorcize this place. Is that the right word?"

"It is, and I think you're right," Stanford said. "But we need medical attention and rest—and I have to call Agent Powers. Come on. And thank you, Manotaurs."

"Our pleasure," Pituataur bellowed. "If an ANT creeps out of this circle, I will smash that ant! SMASH IT!"

"Ah—yes, you do that," Ford said.

Limping, helping each other, they made their way back to the tram and then back to the Shack.

* * *

Nobody slept. Dipper needed iodine—his legs and one arm had been badly ripped by the thorns. Mabel and Wendy administered first aid, with Dipper complaining that the iodine stung worse than the wounds did. When he'd been painted and bandaged, Mabel excused herself to visit Teek again, who had a few scrapes and bruises, but nothing as spectacular as Dipper's bloody stripes.

Wendy lay on his narrow bed beside him, rubbing his chest. "Dude, does it hurt bad?"

Dipper touched her cheek. "Grunkle Stan says when you're hurting after a fight, you know you're still alive, so hurt's a good thing. How about you?"

"Aw, I landed easy," Wendy told him. "Worst thing was just I got my hair tangled up in some brush and had a heck of a time getting loose. What would you think if I cut my hair short, Dip?"

"I'd love you anyway," Dipper said.

She snuggled up to him, hugging him. "Well—I'll put that decision off. I haven't had real short hair since I was like six years old. It'd seem weird. Anyway, I like it long—nice way to hide my axe."

"I like it long, too," Dipper murmured. "It's nice to wake up in the morning all warm and covered in your hair."

They kissed. It wasn't as demonstrative as Mabel and Teek's kiss, but it was heartfelt and soulful.

"Love you, man," Wendy whispered happily.

"Love you, too, Red." Dipper sat up in bed. "Damn it, Bill!"

Wendy laughed and pulled him down and kissed him, and the little bit of Bill that was still in Dipper gave up and left them to their privacy.

* * *

Downstairs, Soos had found Melody's sewing basket. Fiddleford, wrapped in a blanket, had removed his torn pants. "Dude," Soos said, holding up the mangled garment, "this is like a disaster area!"

"Oh, hand them here!" Pacifica took the pants and began to stitch the rip.

"You can sew?" Gideon asked, his eyes wide.

"Anybody can sew!" Pacifica snapped. Then she stopped, blinking. "I know how to sew! How do I know that?"

"Lingering effects of having your mind in Mabel's body," Ford said. "I still have some impressions from Dipper's occupying my body."

"Well—" Pacifica smiled—"I suppose it could be worse. Mabel's actually pretty cool."

"Yeah," Stanley said, "so are you. I mean, that jerk threw a lot of crap your way, Pacifica. You gotta be tough to stand all that." He glared at his brother. "But, holy mackerel, Brainiac! I got all kinds of equations runnin' through my head from you bein' in my brain. That ain't gonna be permanent, is it?"

"I expect it will wear off," Ford said. His phone rang. "Excuse me. Stanford Pines here."

Whoever it was talked for a long time while a grave Stanford listened. At last, Stanford said, "I'm sure it will be safe. Thank you. I'll tell the others what you've said."

He hung up and took a deep breath. "Agent Powers again. The Agency has already removed poor Traci's body. It turns out she was a runaway. They know who her mother was—no father. Unfortunately, she came from a terrible home situation. Jude is a similar story. Evidently Brujo recruited both Traci and Jude as spies."

Pacifica handed the mended trousers back to Fiddleford. "I want to talk to him," she said in an angry voice.

"Pacifica—I'm sorry—Jude is dead, too," Ford told her. "They found his body in the old house that Brujo had made his headquarters. Brujo killed him."

Pacifica took a deep breath. She stood up, shaking.

Gideon took her hand and made her sit down again. "It's awful rough," he said. "Don't you give up, though. You got Adam, you know. He'll help you get through this. And you got a whole mess of friends."

"I want to talk a little," Pacifica whispered. "Will you walk out onto the porch and just listen?"

"I'd be right pleased to lend you an ear," Gideon said. He helped her up and then, still limping, went out onto the back porch with her, where the old sofa rested. The elder Mystery Twins heard her voice, soft and tearful, but they couldn't make out her words.

Stan nudged his brother and nodded toward the back porch door. "Do you suppose those two—"

"No," Ford said. "I really don't. But on the other hand, nothing is completely impossible."

"She done a fine job," Fiddleford said, pulling on the mended pants. "This sounds right petty of me, but do y'all reckon I could dig up my robots? They're the best human ones I ever made. Their computamabrains was both destroyed, so they won't be Dipper and Mabel no more, but maybe I can give 'em different features and make them like real children. Like to try, if I can salvage them."

"I'd say let them rest in peace, dawg," Soos said gently. "You can build more."

"Yeah, you're right," Fiddleford agreed after a moment's thought. "They done their part, even if it was afore I'd planned for them to do it. Best to start fresh."

The door opened, and Teek and Mabel came in. "I think Waddles will be OK now," she said. "He's not shivering any more, and he ate and drank."

"I'll drive the vet over tomorrow to check him out," Teek promised. "If he needs medicine or anything, Doc Setter will fix him up."

"Yeah, if gets to come back to town," Mabel said.

Ford said, "I have news about that. The Agency has canceled the alert. Faulty readings, they're saying now—it was a good dry run, though, so the citizens of Gravity Falls will get special commendations from the government for an orderly evacuation, and as recompense, the town gets a nice grant to improve emergency services."

"Don't  _we_  get nothin'?" Stan asked.

"We get our lives, Stanley," Ford reminded him. Then he smiled. "Oh, the Professor arranged to eliminate the statute of limitations on that treasure you've been hoarding since our Arctic journey. Provided you pay taxes."

"Oy! Always a catch," Stan complained. Then he threw an arm around his brother's shoulder. "But thanks, Poindexter! What did you get? You were the one who was onto the guy first."

Ford shrugged. "I've been given a position as consultant to the Agency. It wasn't a matter of volunteering, it's my payback to them for their help with this and with the manatee problem. I'll receive a retainer every year just for standing by, monitoring Gravity Falls for any serious paranormal threats, and responding in case I'm called in on cases elsewhere. I'm ashamed to tell you how much tax money they're going to commit to my annual check. It's a curse and a blessing, though. I can use my expertise to help protect the country from paranormal threats—but I have to work for the government when I'm called on. I'll just hope that won't be too often."

"Sun's coming up," Soos said softly, gazing at the window. "Gonna be, like, a good day, dawgs." However, he sounded depressed.

"A fine day," Ford agreed with a weary smile.

"Soos," Stan said, "you're lookin' all thoughtful. While you got the chance, wanna ask the Agency fairy for anything special?"

Soos shook his head. "Aw, I was feeling sorry for Traci. She seemed so nice. It was wicked bad wrong of that dude to use her the way he did! And all those other people Brujo killed—he was just plain evil, dudes. I like to think most people are good, but it makes me sick to think about how evil he was." Then he smiled tearfully. "But we lived through it, and my kids and wife and grandmother are comin' back to a safe home. And we stopped him from doin' more killing. So I guess we did some good, huh?"

"Yeah," Stan said. "All of us, especially you. That was genius, Soos, when we did what you thought of and shared our best qualities. It made us all stronger, and that was all your idea. And then Dipper followed it up with swappin' our bodies, so Brujo's focused magic just bounced off our brains 'cause he was targeting the wrong people and didn't know it. We did it together. I guess we're all part of something bigger, huh?"

Soos blew his nose. "Like Hambone said. We're all family."

Stan nodded, teary-eyed. "You bet your life. We're family," he said gruffly.

* * *

In the circle, Brujo raged. It contained him, somehow—he could not pass its boundaries and could not understand why. The moment he drew near, it was as though the air solidified against him. "Impossible for their spell to hold. They're dead," he muttered. "They  _must_  be dead!"

Yet he had gained no power. Had lost it, if anything. He did not seem to be bleeding, but he could not cast even an elementary light spell. But day was coming—the dawn had lightened the east, and dusk retreated before the growing morning twilight. When he could see, he could surely find a way out.

Every curse has its counter-curse, even if it's only to break a circle of restriction. "I'll have them yet!" he screamed.

"No."

He spun, furious, and squinted at the shadowy, transparent figure in front of him. "Who are you?"

The voice sounded familiar, German-accented and precise: "I had many names. You knew me as Heinrich Eisbach. I came from Germany with the darkest secrets of sorcery. You were my pupil. You betrayed me."

"You're dead!"

"Because you killed me."

"I am Cristobal Sandovan," another voice said in Spanish. "A blacksmith, a villager. You killed me."

"Maria, his wife. You killed me."

A child? Yes, a small fellow no more than two. But the haunting voice was older: "I am Juan, their little son. You killed me."

Suddenly the circle swarmed with shades—men, women, children, ghosts—many dead, from many countries, speaking many tongues, all accusing him of murdering them, a cacophony of angry voices. He tried to curse them silent, but discovered his jaw was frozen, he couldn't speak. His tongue had fused with the roof of his mouth. He could not even close his eyes to avoid seeing them. His eyelids had disappeared.

They crowded in, pressing on him. "My name is Jude. You killed me."

They gazed at him with dull hatred in their dead eyes. "My name is Traci. You killed me."

They piled in on him, reciting the roll call of the dead, cramping, suffocating him—a woman from Las Vegas, villagers from Bolivia, the old man Restropo, the trucker, the priest, the woman Susan Flowers whose husband had begun all this with the cursed CD cover he had stolen—

So many others—

"Get away from me!" Brujo tried to wail. His lips were sealed now. He could make no sound other than the muffled buzzing of his vocal chords. Did he even have a body? The instant he wondered, he realized he had become something other than physical—still aware, still suffering—

No longer alive.

The priest, the only ghost that did not seem angry, murmured sorrowfully, "There is no absolution for you. It is time to go."

Did the earth tear itself open? Did spider-limbed creatures glowing a dull red clamber out of the widening, fiery, smoking fissure and seize his legs and arms, did they haul him to the hellish cleft in the earth? Did they drag him down into it, writhing, silently screaming and begging for mercy until the gash closed above him?

Well—to  _him_ it was real, anyway.

And that . . . was only the beginning.

* * *

_The End_

**Author's Note:**

> Author's note:   
> Last fall I sent out to write a connected sequence of stories featuring a bad guy—because I have trouble writing bad guys. Like Soos, I want to believe most people are good.
> 
> Well, it's done now, and I hope I managed to write a bad guy at last. There's still about three weeks in the summer of 2015. Maybe that's time for some laughs and silliness and some warm, sweet, feel-good Wendip. I think I'm ready for some . . . .
> 
> Oh, and poor Pacifica. She definitely deserves some TLC, doesn't she?
> 
> Have to do something about that. I'll be back!


End file.
